I want to thank everyone that has taken the time to read and review this story. I really felt that in seasons 4 and especially 5, they were setting something up between these two, so I had to find a way to work that in to my story. We are getting close to the end now, the last chapter is almost half written, and it was difficult to find a good place to stop. I wrote and rewrote this chapter three times, hopefully it turned out ok.
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Prentiss followed Clyde to the door, watched him leave, and closed it behind him. She stood there a moment, with her back to Hotch, and then slowly turned around.
"Did he just...play me?"
Hotch was looking down at his feet, trying to hide just a hint of a smile.
"I think he did."
"He knew I would defend you." she shook her head. "Why would he do that?"
"Maybe he's trying to tell you something."
She shook her head. "I don't know, Clyde is usually pretty direct when he has something to say."
Emily made her way towards the couch and wearily took a seat. The flash of anger had only served to make her head pound even more. She just wanted a hot shower and a soft bed.
"Look, Hotch, no matter how irritated I might be at the moment, I don't blame you for my getting hurt. If anything it was my fault. I shouldn't have just opened that door without being more prepared."
"Emily..."
"I mean, whether you accept it or not, it's just the nature of the job. Every member of the team has been injured at one time or another, more than once, even...well except for Rossi." she mused. "That guy is eerily invincible. Have you ever noticed that?"
"Emily, part of me will always feel responsible for what happens to any member of my team. Especially you. But that's not the only reason I am here. I have some things to say, and I need you to listen."
She had known this was coming. He wanted to tell her that kissing her was a mistake. He would probably blame it on alcohol or weariness...and then he was going to tell her about New York, about going back to Beth. She knew it was only putting off the inevitable, but she stood up, walking around the couch.
"Fine. But I really need a hot shower. Why don't you fix yourself a drink and have a seat. I won't be long."
"But..."
"Whatever you have to say seems important to you."
"It is." he whispered
"Then let me get out of these clothes and clear my head. I'll be back in ten minutes. Fifteen tops."
Even as she said the words, she was already through the doorway, leaving him standing there alone. Damn it, he thought. He had already waited too long to tell her how he felt. Fifteen minutes would feel like an eternity. He took her advice, walked over and fixed himself a drink. Maybe it would help to calm him down. He found it odd that he could stare down the barrel of a gun without blinking, but right now he was afraid of losing his nerve.
Hotch sipped at his scotch and took a seat on the couch. He let his mind wander back in time, trying to figure out when he started having these feelings for her. If he was truthful with himself, he could almost pinpoint the exact moment. After the SUV explosion in New York, he remembered the look in her eyes at the hospital, the way she seemed almost distraught over his injuries. Sure, the whole team was concerned, and when they saw the explosion on the tape, he had no doubt that they had all been equally affected. But in the hospital, once they knew he was alive, and going to be all right, they were focused on nothing but the case. But not Emily. She was focused solely on him, on his injuries. He had looked in her eyes, seen the care and concern, and maybe a bit of something else, and felt a twinge in his chest. But he was her supervisor, and it just wouldn't be right to have these feelings for her. There were rules about this sort of thing, and those rules were in place for a reason. That was when he started putting up the walls.
Then there was the night that Foyet had attacked him. Nobody on the team could get in touch with him, but it was Emily who left the investigation to come looking for him. She was one that stayed by his bedside, waiting for him to open his eyes. The one who didn't question him when he said he didn't remember the attack, even though she knew that he was lying. The one who stayed with him at the hospital while everyone else left to work on the case.
But the most telling sign, the thing that he couldn't get out of his mind, was his first case back after the attack. It was Darrin Call, the man who was haunted by demons in his past much in the way that he himself was haunted by Foyet. Emily had walked him all the way back to his apartment after the case, despite him telling her it wasn't necessary.
"But at least he doesn't have to feel like he's alone anymore."
"He doesn't have anyone." Hotch had answered.
"He has Tommy." She had said, fixing her eyes on him. "He's not alone."
They both knew they weren't really talking about Call or Tommy. She had hesitated for just a second, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, she told him to get some sleep and left him standing in his apartment surrounded by silence. He remember how much he wanted to ask her to stay, how much he had needed her to stay. But he said nothing, and she was gone. The walls that he had put up began to crack that day, just a little. But Foyet was out there, and he couldn't afford a distraction.
He downed the scotch and walked over and refilled the glass. So much time had passed since any of that had happened. Why had he waited so long to do this?
Emily stood in the shower, hoping the hot water wash away the stress of the day. What she was really doing was buying herself some time to regain her composure - she was usually an expert at compartmentalizing, but that skill was failing her right now. She knew what Hotch wanted to talk about, and at this point she wished he would leave it unsaid. For so many years she had tried to get close to him, to get him to let her in. And just when she thought maybe it was finally going to happen, it had all gone to hell rather quickly.
Normally she would drain the hot water tank, but he was waiting, and she certainly didn't want him to come looking for her. She quickly rinsed all of the soap off of her and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, she walked into her bedroom, trying to decide what to wear. She pulled a skimpy nightgown out of her drawer, considering wearing it just to see the effect that it would have on him. To see if she could tempt him, and make him forget all about Beth. Deep down, she knew that wouldn't solve anything, so she threw on a pair of sweats and a tank top. After readying herself, she walked back into the living room.
He stood up from his seat on the couch and walked over to greet her. Even in her extremely casual clothes, with no makeup and dampened hair she looked so beautiful. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.
"Feel better?"
"A little."
"Would you like a drink?"
"No." she answered "I think we should just get this over with."
"Get it over with?"
"I'm pretty sure I know what you want to tell me Hotch. I don't see any point in dragging it out."
He frowned, wondering what she was talking about. Did she really know what he was going to say? Was it possible that he had read all of this wrong? Maybe she really didn't care for him the way he thought, and he was about to make a giant fool of himself. There was only one way to find out. He took her by the hand led her to the couch. She took a seat, staring at their still joined hands as he sat down beside her.