Disclaimer: I do not own anything Criminal Minds related. Characters are merely borrowed and will be put back later. ;)

Possible spoilers: This chapter discusses and alludes to scenes from the actual episode: S04E17: Demonology.

A/N: Since this is the chapter I worked most on, please tell me if I get it right. I'd love to know.

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Fair and Foul

Chapter Seven-Fair and Foul

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars."

Khalil Gibran

"Hotch? Hotch?"

She had been waiting for him to talk back to her for about ten seconds, and she'd gotten nothing.

She approached him cautiously, unsure whether he was alright or not. "Aaron?" she murmured, "Are you alright?" Still no response. She reached out and touched his shoulder, "Aaron..".

He spun around to face her, his thought flow interrupted, and he groaned as the wound in his side flared to life to tell him what a bad idea the fast swerve was. She winced along with him, knowing exactly how the flash of pain had hit him.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Are you okay? Can I do anything?" she asked, concerned

"I'm fine. I'm fine, really." he said, hissing slightly as the pain subsided. "I didn't hear you come in- I was thinking about Cyrus."

"Cyrus? Oh."

The fact that she went so quiet and reserved at the mention of Benjamin Cyrus was enough for Aaron to realise that time might heal all wounds- but she needed more time with those ones in particular.

"I didn't mean to bring it up, it's-"

"No, it's fine. Really. He's just not my favourite person", she chuckled softly. Hotch nodded in understanding as he stood, awkwardly, to meet her gaze, taking her wet clothes from her. "I'll take these and put them on a radiator. You pour coffee," he told her calmly. She went back to the kitchen and he went to the upstairs bedroom with the clothes. The journey took him long enough that when he came down, she was back on the couch, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands and another on the coffee table. Thunder was still raging outside and the wind was howling in the trees.

He walked closer and sat on the same couch, next to her. He took his coffee and sipped it gently. She was turned to face him, her legs tucked under her for comfort, and in turn he faced her too, relaxed and warm on the seat next to her, his right knee casually tipping against her thigh. He hadn't sat this close to someone in a long time.

For the first time, he took into account what she was wearing. It only took him a few seconds to feel that ache he always felt when he was near her. His shirt, an old but clean one, showed her curves and features- but she was comfortable, and it made her seem part of the house. He was surprised to find that that made him content- happier than he had been in quite some time.

"So how did you get to thinking about Cyrus of all people?" she asked curiously.

Hotch wasn't sure whether to tell her the truth or not. Whether to lay his feelings and emotions on the line like that. He decided to go out on a limb and explain it to her- neither of them would ever forget Cyrus, and he knew that she of all people would not brush aside his concerns.

"I was as worried that day as I was yesterday- I was thinking about us listening to him... beating you... and we couldn't move. It was awful to be outside knowing that there was nothing we could do. It felt the same yesterday. That's why I went into the house. It killed me to stand outside when I knew you were in trouble again."

"I didn't know that... I kind of thought, when I came out from that madhouse Cyrus was running, that you were angry with me."

"I would never be angry with you. I just wished that you would give up so that I could get you out of there."

He'd said I. Not we, but I. So that I could get you out of there.

There was another brief, comfortable silence while the rain lashed the house and the both came to the realisation that things had changed now. They were being open and honest- something that neither of them suspected the other of being capable of. Emily put her mug down on the coffee table, the ceramic clanking quietly against the surface.

"You know, Aaron... in New York, after the car bomb... You have no idea how worried I was. I thought you were dead. Rossi and Reid were talking about the profile in that conference room, and all I could do was make phone calls, find out where you were. I was practically catatonic."

He looked at her intently. "I would have said you were professional rather than emotional about it when you found me."

"I probably was. I'm like that around you generally I suppose." She couldn't be sure of why- she assumed that since she had started her job at the BAU with professionalism in mind, she had simply stayed that way; had never changed, never truly allowed anyone in. She trusted them all, but deep down inside, he was the one she trusted most- and he was the last person she wanted to know that.

Aaron had lapsed into silence again. He knew what she meant. He had given her such a hard time in the beginning, made it so difficult for her to fit in, that her professionalism and the way she maintained it was a credit to her. He knew that she trusted him just as much as any member of the team- and he had known, less than a few months after she came to the job, that she was the right woman for it. He was very aware of her sitting right next to him- aware that he might be treading a thin line- but there was something nagging at him- one thing he had to say to her that had been bugging him for months. He had to ask now, before he lost his courage.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, half whispering, fingering the edge of his mug and not meeting her eyes.

"Shoot." She said calmly. He put the mug down.

"When you walked into my office that day, after the rain- after Matthew died- you looked the worst I've ever seen you. I told you to take time off- you wouldn't."

She remembered him calling her by her first name that time- and how even that still left her feeling empty after she had had such bad news. All she had wanted was for him to hug her, hold her close and tell her it would be okay- but he hadn't done that. Though she wouldn't know it, almost every time he mentioned her while she was gone during that case, he called her by her first name- he had never really done so before.

"Yeah, I remember... Go on," she coaxed, utterly sure that she knew what was coming. She had deliberately, desperately, lied to him the first time he had asked her about it. She wasn't sure what she would tell him this time.

"What happened, Emily? What really happened?" He fixed her with that intent look, but for once, there was nothing but sympathy in there- he wasn't being nosy; he cared. He was thinking back, to that same day, in the snow- the day he realised just how strong she was; just how much he admired her strength.

She knew that he had gone out on a limb for her, blatantly calling the Vatican to step in when the exorcisms were at their worst. She remembered the moment when, at the end of the case, she emerged from Johnny's house to approach Hotch.

"If you want my gun and badge I understand."

He shook his head, ashamed that he had not believed her for a while; ashamed that he had almost allowed another of her friends to die. He couldn't meet her eyes for too long.

"There's a plane ticket in your name to Rome," he addressed Father Paul Silvano, "Agent Morgan and I will drive you to the airport"- his way of making sure that Emily would not suffer the pain of seeing this man again- "Any of your belongings can be shipped to you."

Emily turned to look at him, astounded- and exceedingly grateful- that he had put himself on the line for her.

"You have no right to deport me," Fr. Silvano said.

"The Vatican intervened. The Italian Government has rescinded your diplomatic status," Rossi intoned.

"They'll do with you as they see fit when you're back in their jurisdiction." Hotch stated.

"You've all just made the world a much more dangerous place," the priest declared before turning to face Emily. "May God's love be with you", he muttered in old Latin.

"And with you," she fiercely replied. As he was led away to the car, Hotch looked at Emily to see her looking shaken but resolute.

"I saw that guy up there. He was certain he was fighting against some kind of evil," Morgan said quietly.

"We all have to be certain," Rossi asserted as the snowflakes continued to fall from the heavens.

"Rossi, don't tell me you believe in evil," Morgan remarked.

"Don't tell me you do this job and you don't!" Rossi retorted sharply.

"I believe there are evil acts," Morgan qualified- "But those are choices. Brain chemistry."

Emily looked unhappy and uncomfortable with the entire conversation- Hotch wasn't sure why.

"What do you think Hotch?", Morgan questioned.

Aaron looked sideways at her, sensing her discomfort. He was worried about her all over again.

"I think deep down we're all capable of unspeakable things. Where it starts or what you call it, I don't know... Let's get him out of here."

Emily stopped her reverie and looked back at him again. She knew that he wouldn't betray her confidence- and she knew that he was asking because he wanted her to trust him and allow him to care. So she told him.

"We moved around a lot, when I was a kid... because of my mom. We ended up in Italy when I was 15. All I wanted was to fit in. I- I explained this to Rossi- fitting in is the only... the only important thing when you're 15...."

He knew that she was uncomfortable. By instinct, he reached out and took her hand in his.

"You're willing to do almost anything to fit in," she continued. "Anything."

He echoed exactly what Rossi had said that day- "You got pregnant."

She nodded, her voice too shaky to keep going for a moment. She unwittingly squeezed his hand, as though to stop the tears from falling, as they always did when she thought back to that day and that time. Her eyes were blurring over and she knew she had to spit the rest of the story out.

Hotch just sat there, looking at her, holding her hand and gently stroking her fingers.

"Matthew, he- he- took me to the hospital and w- waited with me. I was terrified, but I had no other choice. I couldn't tell my mom..."

Aaron Hotchner was the one person she had never wanted to share this story with. She cursed Rossi's loyalty- it would have been easier if he had told her secret... In truth, Emily was still ashamed of what she had done. In her eyes, that moment had set up the rest of Matthew's life- and she would regret that forever.

"Emily..."

It was too late. The tears spilled over and she couldn't stop them once they started. She still felt alone, worthless and lost- and humiliated that Hotch now knew the truth.

He hated himself for making her re-live it. He truly did. He pulled her close and hugged her to him- something she had long wanted and arguably even needed. He wrapped an arm around her back and waist as she pulled her legs out from under her. He managed to pull her closer, tucking one leg under hers and shushing her quietly, rubbing her back to comfort her.

She clung to him, tears still falling, trying not to sob- but this was something she had needed to do for some months, maybe even years- and he wasn't stopping her. He relaxed with her further back into the chair, extended his legs and propped her up as they lay there on his couch. She cried until she had no more tears to cry, her face buried in his neck- and he held her close with both arms tied around her, rested his cheek against her hair, quietly shushing her into calmness, running his hands up and down her back and rocking her ever so gently to pacify the grief she felt.

All awkwardness was gone when she quietened. Things had changed and they both knew it- changed for the better or the worse, they had yet to find out. He wasn't sure how long later it was, but eventually she breathed softly and peacefully.

When she was calm and relaxed enough, she moved her head nearer his collarbone. She reached her right hand out and touched, ever so softly, the cuts, burns and bruises on his arm that she could see. He turned his arm to face her- an automatic movement- giving her more access to him. They slipped farther into the couch, finally lying side by side facing each other.

"I still can't believe you went in there after us..." she whispered, tracing her finger against a burn on his forearm.

"After you," he corrected automatically.

She smiled at him, gently at first but it soon turned into that fantastic smile she kept for her happiest moments. He chuckled softly and moved his arm out of her reach, resting it gently against her hip.

It was the most automatic thing in the world- Emily's hand flew to his face, swiftly but softly touching the cuts on his cheekbone and by his ear. His hand tightened on her hip and she looked into his eyes half sadly. He had suffered so much- for her. She could see from his eyes, emotional and intense, that that wall of armour-steel plated and crude- the wall he always held in front of him-was gone.

Aaron's forehead touched against hers when she took her hand away to put it at his waist. He closed his eyes and thought sincerely about pulling away. But he couldn't bear to.

His t shirt was slightly askew and as her hand landed, she felt the edge of the bandage covering the true damage- the severe shrapnel wound at his waist. She moved her palm over it and held her hand there, half on the bandage and half against his skin, her warm fingers soothing the consistent throbbing soreness.

He tilted his head- again, automatically- and pressed his lips to her lower cheek. She closed her eyes and her hand moved to his back, his bare skin soft against her hand. He kissed her again and moved closer to her mouth. The third time, he deliberately and carefully hit home, firmly kissing her warm lips, moving his other hand up to her face, wiping the remaining tears away while the hand on her hip moved too- pulling her closer.

She tried to focus on the pain in her stomach- but she couldn't. She was half breathless and her cheeks were flushed red. His lips were warm and soft- and there was no denying the passion and desire of his actions. Her hand moved from under his t shirt to behind his shoulder, where, with her fingers laced in his hair, she managed to pull him even closer to her. He happily complied, his legs twisting with hers as he kissed her again and again- finally letting her know that he cared- and cared deeply.

Time passed as the storm raged itself into submission outside, the dawn sky gradually bringing light to the world again.

***

"So foul and fair a day I have not seen"

Act I, Scene III, Macbeth

William Shakespeare