He's almost afraid to approach her, the impossibility of her, of this, so penetrating that a part of him fears that if he moves too fast, comes too close, she'll disappear, and that will be it.

He doesn't think he can survive on his own, anymore. Not after her.

The tremor in his voice surprises even him. "Emily…"

Light catches on her eyes and he can see tears there, cascading loose as her eyes close, and he knows then that she feels it too, that it's too much to hope that this is real. "I didn't know until…" Her voice sounds ragged, and he can only imagine how exhausted she must be after everything. "I wanted to tell you."

His incremental advance finally brings him close enough to feel the heat coming off her, but still, he's afraid to touch her.

Instead, he looks down, completely awestruck by the sight of the baby lying in her arms, and he feels as breathless as he did in the hospital all those months ago. There's an instinctive, desperate need to hold onto them both to keep anything, anyone from taking this away, because it was so, so close.

"What's…" He hears his voice break and feels wetness on his cheeks. "It she - he - "

"Lilah," Emily murmurs.

"Lilah." Somehow, he feels like it's more than a name for the infant and the word that finally explains what he's been reaching for all these months.

"Hotchner."

He moves, then, running the fingers of one hand through her hair to tip her head back, and as brief as it is, he knows from the sound she makes, muted by his mouth pressed to hers, that she understands what it means. Drawing back, he runs a finger over the baby's balled-up fists and his heart all but stops when her fingers spring open, almost like an invitation, and then his daughter's hand is wrapped around his.

"I was afraid it was all she'd have of you." Her eyes are wide, almost fearful, and he realizes suddenly that she has no idea of what he knows, no idea that she's safe - that all of them are - for the first time in years.

"Doyle's dead, Emily. It's over." He presses his nose to the top of her head, breathing in her scent before laying his cheek against her hair, reveling in the unexpected present. "Come home."

She shifts the baby in her arms and raises herself on her tiptoes, letting Lilah's soft weight rest against Aaron's chest as he moves his arms to cradle her. "As long as you still want - "

"God, Emily, I still want you. I want both of you."

Wide eyes stare up at him from under lashes that mark her as Emily's offspring, and he's never seen a look so innocent and pure. "I'm sorry," she whispers, tucking her head beneath his chin.

He closes his eyes, holding close the missing pieces of his life. "I'm not."

They stay two days in Montréal under the guise of tying loose ends, but really, she thinks, it's that it takes that long for him to put down his daughter long enough to drive home. Tired as she is, she can't close her eyes and lose sight of Aaron sitting in the cramped bedroom of the little apartment with their daughter in his arms.

He finally sets Lilah in the bassinet and lies beside Emily, his body fitted firmly against hers, and she feels something inside her, the raw, gaping wound that's been torn open over and over since Marseille and probably before, start to heal.

They drive home, taking turns behind the wheel, because he can't let go of either one of them for long. She's quiet for most of the ride - they all are, and there's a contentment to it - and she keeps reaching over for him, seeking to reassure herself that this isn't the end stages of exhaustion playing tricks on her mind.

When she sees the house he's bought in her absence and the room upstairs that's empty but for a crib, she understands what it feels like to have a home.

He takes a sabbatical, strongly encouraged in light of recent events, and she watches the way the chaos of having an infant thrust into his life knocks him off balance at first and how he fights to adjust until he's wearing fatherhood like a tailored suit.

Dave comes around a few times, loaded down with bags of gifts for his goddaughter, but the others stay away and Emily aches for Aaron, because she can't bear the thought that she's destroyed the trust his team once had in him, trust he'd earned in blood and sweat.

One night, she suggests a paternity test, something to prove to his team he's not living a lie, and he looks at her, dumbstruck, and stalks off.

She finds him watching Lilah sleep, and she rests a hand on the back of his neck and whispers an apology. He tells her he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone, least of all himself.

The next morning, they bundle Lilah in a comical number of layers and bring her to meet the team, because it's thanks to them that she'll get to grow up and Emily has the sneaking suspicion that her daughter holds the key to reconciliation.

Life doesn't so much normalize - because she's never had a normal to return to - as it settles. Lilah's nearly two by the time Emily's credentials are sorted and she's officially cleared to return to work, but the timing is something of a problem.

Three weeks after Emily Prentiss is formally declared alive, her latest undercover assignment comes to light, a red-faced, howling thing they call Violet, and Hotch is not the slightest bit bothered to be the only man in their little operation.

Turns out, neither of them has to wonder anymore what it's like to be happy.