Reid pulled up to the curb in front of their hotel and watched as Hotch and Prentiss got out.

"You guys sure you don't want to come eat? Rossi'll probably pick up the tab…" His voice trailed off. Both agents were already headed toward the building's main entrance, trailing mumbled excuses in their wake.

The young genius's eyes narrowed. There was something dazed about the way the Unit Chief was moving. And something proprietary about the way Emily was keeping pace at his side. She cast an apologetic look back at Spencer, but the pair disappeared through the door without further explanation.

As one level of his prodigious cognitive processes devoted itself to deciphering his teammates' behavior, Reid pulled out his cell to see if anyone might need a ride to Chandler's Crab House.

XXXXXXXX

As Hotch and Prentiss stepped into the elevator, Emily hesitated, finger poised over the number 5, the floor where her room was. She knew Hotch's was on 7. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to follow him. In fact, looking at his preoccupied expression, she wasn't sure of much.

Did he just want someone to make sure he made it across the lobby? Or to his floor? Or did he decide he does want to talk about what happened? Or did he change his mind? Or does he…?

"I'm sorry." Hotch shook himself out of his distraction. "I really do need to take a shower. Come to my room in about ten minutes?" Even if she hadn't wanted to, Emily couldn't have said 'no' to the sad eyes waiting for a reply. Something deep in their dark recesses said disappointment was all too often the outcome when help of a personal nature was needed.

"Sure, Hotch. Ten minutes." She pressed 5 and then 7, relieved to know she hadn't misinterpreted her leader's implied request that she forego a seafood dinner in a city known for its marine cuisine.

As though he'd jumped on her train of thought, Hotch spoke up. "I'll order room service when you get there." He retreated back into his private thoughts, only rousing when they reached the fifth floor where Emily stepped out into the hallway.

"Prentiss?"

She paused, half expecting him to say he'd rather be alone after all. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The doors closed before she could say, other than maintaining discretion in Reid's presence, she didn't feel she'd done anything worthy of gratitude.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" Garcia bounced with joy in the passenger seat of the SUV.

It had been a near-perfect day in Penelope-land.

Her Luscious Latte-Skinned God had accompanied her in a quixotic journey through the rabbit warren of shops that comprised Seattle's Pike Place Market. It soon became apparent that for Morgan the main attraction was observing Garcia's reactions and interactions. He spent most of their time together with an amused grin engendered by her innocent delight at each and every discovery. They'd wandered without rhyme or reason, encountering characters and locales that might have sprung from the pages of fairy stories, or Dickens, or Harry Potter.

The tech analyst had pounced on vintage jewelry in dusty, velvet-lined cubbyholes that themselves looked intriguingly antique. They'd sampled exotically spiced teas, and ales from local micro-breweries. They'd trekked up and down narrow, death-defying staircases leading to shops specializing in Oriental kites, kimonos, and garden implements.

Morgan was beginning to think he'd never be able to pry Penelope away from a shelf of eyeglass frames embellished with rhinestones in every color of the rainbow when Reid's call had reminded them that it was dinnertime.

"You guys need a ride?" The young doctor was circling the narrow, waterfront streets, unable to find parking. "If you do, you better catch me in the next couple of circuits. People don't look too thrilled to see a black SUV doing super-slow drive-bys."

"C'mon, Baby Girl! I'm starving." Morgan was also reaching his limit when it came to acting as a porter for the numerous shopping bags Garcia had accumulated.

The prospect of leaving her new, all-time favorite locale didn't dampen her spirits in the least. Once in the passenger seat beside Reid, new enthusiasm surfaced.

"Oh boy, oh boy , oh boy! The Culinary Italian King beckons us to a gastronomic adventure!" she crowed, rummaging through one of her bags. She extracted a curious-looking book bound in leather and rawhide.

"What's that?" Reid shot her an inquisitive glance as he navigated his way toward the restaurant Rossi had chosen.

"It's an Italian cookbook from the early 1800s. A present for our Roman Knight."

"Is it for real? If it is, it should be in a museum somewhere."

Garcia's eyes widened. "You don't think it's a fake, do you?" She twisted around to confront Morgan in the back seat. "Did you let me buy a fake, Mon Ami?"

Derek's laugh was deep and genuine. "I let you buy a nice gift that didn't break your budget, Mama." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Rossi'll love it. Guaranteed."

"Well…what about the other stuff I got? Did I get taken or…"

"Baby Girl!" Morgan cut off what threatened to become a deluge of unnecessary doubt. "You got nice, thoughtful gifts for a good price." He fished a small charm strung on a leather thong from under his shirt, giving it a fond look. "Hey…I like mine. So will the others."

Reid squinted into the rearview. "What is that?"

Basking in Morgan's appreciation, Garcia preened a little. "It's a glass charm made from the volcanic ash from when Mount St. Helen went ballistic. It's a little totem pole." Her smile grew mischievous. "I got you one, too, but it's an anchor."

The young genius immediately made a connection. "Is that because Madame Sobrani told me I was a sailor in some mythical past life?"

"Yup. And I got Prentiss a bird and J.J. an angel."

Reid nodded. "And you got Rossi that cookbook."

"And I got Hotch a really cool kite for him to play with Jack, 'cause our White Knight's, you know, kind of uncomfortable with getting attention."

"Yeah. About that…" Spencer chewed on his lip, hoping he wasn't betraying anything confidential…and deciding he wasn't. "Hotch and Prentiss won't be joining us for dinner." He glanced into the rearview mirror, catching Morgan's eye. "They were kind of weird when I picked them up. Hotch wanted to go back to the hotel."

Derek shrugged. "Probably wanted to dive into paperwork." His lips lifted in a sardonic grin. "Or maybe he wanted to get back into something comfortable…you know…like a tie."

"He wanted Emily to stay with him."

Three pairs of eyebrows rose along with a host of gossip-worthy possibilities.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Morgan, Garcia and Reid were entertaining various scenarios that would account for their Unit Chief's uncharacteristic behavior, Prentiss, hair still damp from her own shower, knocked on the door of room 712.

It was opened by a somewhat rumpled, Hotch. He stood aside, nodding her in. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure. Anytime." She stood in the center of his room watching him close and lock the door. He hadn't made eye contact at all; something Emily found troubling. He doesn't want to be 'read.' He's not ready to let anyone in on whatever's happening to him. Go slow. Lull him into feeling safe. She sighed. For someone who regularly put his body at risk on the job, Aaron Hotchner was almost obsessive about protecting himself emotionally.

He heard her sigh as he turned from the door and finally looked up. "If you've got other things you'd rather do, it's okay. You can go. I'll understand."

And that's when Prentiss's admonition to herself to 'go slow' flew out the window. She was tired from the long hike, confused about the elevation and clear sky they'd experienced that didn't jive with the current weather conditions, and she was hungry. Irritation surfaced.

"Hotch, I'm here because I want to be. But if you're going to dance around the fact that something really weird happened up on that mountain, then…then…" As quickly as it had flared, her frustration faded.

"Oh, hell, Hotch." Her voice went soft. "Just talk to me. Outdoor Vegas…remember? What happened up there, stays up there."

He did. With a slow, sad nod and a worried look, Hotch sat on the edge of his bed, stared at his own feet, and began.