Nighthawks

A/N: Short, yes, but no less emotionally draining. Now I have to go finish (start) the essay that's due Monday.

XLI. Hotch

You're doing paperwork when you get the call. You're almost grateful that you weren't away on a case, but grateful isn't a word you want to use when talking about this.

You had left the office without saying a word, your heart racing.

You're afraid.

Fear is an emotion you've felt before. You feel it every time a member of the team is in danger. You don't think you've ever felt it in this much volume.

Jordan had barely said anything; it was just "Emily's in hospital." Before she'd had a chance to explain, you were already moving.

You're there now, having broken several dozen road rules to make it there.

You see her doctor. See the look on his face.

And your heart breaks.

XLII. Emily

It had been just your second day in Counter Terrorism. It's a new experience, definitely, but you're used to new experiences by now. Used to having your life shaken up at every corner.

You were talking to Jordan, as she explained some of the team dynamics. It seems almost easier when you know someone on the inside.

You'd tried to ignore the agonizing pain in your abdomen. You'd pegged it as just another one of those pregnancy symptoms. Then, you felt the wetness.

You didn't need Jordan to tell you that you were bleeding, but she did anyway. Your fingers came away soaked in red.

That was an hour ago.

Hotch comes in, and looking at his face, you know he's trying so damn hard not to break down. You stopped trying a while ago.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper. Maybe, if you hadn't stressed yourself out so much, if you hadn't waited this long, maybe it wouldn't have happened this way.

Tears shining in his eyes, he takes your hand. 'It's not your fault, Emily.'

You want to tell him that it is. That this is your penance for fucking your life up so badly. All that comes out is a short sob.

'We can keep trying,' he tells you. His still holding your hand tightly. And in that moment you know.

He's never letting go.

XLIII. Hotch

Ten minutes later, she's asleep.

You still haven't let go of her hand. Awkwardly, you use the hospital phone to call Rossi.

'How is she?' is the first thing he asks.

'She miscarried,' you reply softly, not wanting to wake her.

You can almost see him nodding in understanding. 'Take the rest of the day. I've got things here.'

You bite your lip, afraid that it's all going to come bursting out.

'Thanks, Dave,' is all you can say.

You hang up quickly, squeezing her hand.

'I'm sorry,' you say. You're fairly sure she's still asleep, but that doesn't change the fact that you need to get this out. 'I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when I needed to be. I'm sorry that you had to give up everything you ever wanted. I'm sorry that this happened, and I hope like hell you can forgive me, because I…I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you,' you add softly.

She squeezes back, and when she speaks, her voice is still warbly. 'I love you too.'

XLIV. Emily

They keep you overnight for observation. When you leave the next morning, Hotch is by your side. He hasn't left it once since yesterday.

You had only been twelve weeks along, but it still hurt more than anything you've ever experienced – physically and emotionally. As though a part of you had been ripped away. As though you didn't deserve it in the first place.

There's silence between you for a long while, but it isn't an awkward silence. It's the silence that's telling you that you're both still grieving, that while healing physically might not take long, healing emotionally might take a great deal longer.

But you've got each other.