The minute he steps into her apartment he finds himself at an utter loss.

He's backup, he'd realized quickly, there if Easter put up a fight. Superfluous, probably, because he finds himself severely doubting Emily's skills, even if she's out of the habit and he's sure as hell not ready to classify this as a way to prove she's not running. Not with the way she immediately slips into her bedroom, then, with a hand clenched at her side, into the nearby bathroom.

He's not sure what makes him give chase, isn't sure how the hell his reflexes beat hers in grabbing that hand, but the necklace inside drops to the tile with a metallic clang. She gives him a split second of surprise and he doesn't waste it, swooping down to pick up the coil of gold.

A ring.

He hears a gasp, thinks it's his for a moment until he gets a look at her face. This means things. Important things. Things that he'd seriously considered but had hoped wouldn't be true. Another secret she chose not to share.

Her hand shakes as she reaches for the necklace, closes around the ring where it dangles and glints in the sun. "It's a Gimmel ring."

"Which you were trying to hide."

"Get rid of, actually." But her smile is an ugly thing, not near as mocking as he thinks she'd hoped for.

Destroy evidence. He gets the sense that no one was supposed to know about it, let alone know what it means. It's not like her. He doesn't like what this case is turning her into, who this case is turning her into. He doesn't like that he feels this is a continual guessing game, that he never feels steady.

"Emily."

Her breath catches and she stumbles back. It takes him a moment to realize the latter is in counter to his own step forward. A moment later her back is against the bathroom counter and his hand lets go of the ring to wrap around her bicep. The other palms her hip, half against his own conscious mind. It's intimate, this position, but that's not what's on his mind.

Claiming her is.

He's sick of playing catch up. He's sick of leaving her at the mercy of other men. She is theirs. She is his. His cool, calm mask isn't working, can't hold up in the face of having to bring her back, to remind her what she has. Whose she is.

She's not Clyde Easter's.

She is certainly not Ian Doyle's.

She is his.

His mouth isn't gentle as it takes hers. He is fierce, possessive, gives her no quarter, almost no choice but to respond. It takes her a moment, a split second to figure out what's going on, but then she does exactly that. He doesn't hear the ring hit the floor, but it must if the curve of her hand around his neck is any indication. Her other hand fists his suit jacket, the same way it had in his office.

His hand leaves her hip to wrap around those fingers, hold her there, hold her close as he breaks for air. She's panting too, breath fast, eyes dark.

"I loved him," she whispers. "He wanted to marry me. I'd told him from the beginning I wasn't the marrying type."

"And now?" he asks, his grip tightening out of reflex. It does hurt, he's only human. He's not sure, given her face, that he can honestly differentiate between the emotions of Emily Prentiss, the woman he's worked alongside and yes, is attracted to, and Lauren Reynolds. He's not sure she can either.

He feels the tremor in her body, the minute shaking of the overwhelming emotion racing through her.

"I have never regretted a single decision I made on this case." Her eyes flit between his. He's not sure what she's looking for, reassurance or some sort of strength. All he can give her is another squeeze of her hand, the press of his body against hers.

He will not give her up.

He will not let her run.

He reaches for her, cups her face in his palm, makes her focus utterly and completely on him. "What else do I need to know?"

He can see it in her eyes, the flash across her face. There is something, something big. Something key.

Then comes the knock on the door. He steps back, separates from her reluctantly, watches her mask fall into place with a deep breath and a toss of her head. Then she catches his eyes.

Ready?

No, not really. He wants more time with her, a handful of stolen moments to get that last piece of key information. Instead, he inclines his. Always.

Emily heads for the door.

NEWS: so, for those of you who know me, you know that December 1 is the beginning of my annual Christmas fic. This year, the fic is actually a group of smaller fics from a bunch of different universes, including Homecoming.

THIS FIC WILL BE ON HIATUS FOR THE NEXT MONTH while I get those fics out.

Thanks for your patience and I'm glad you guys are still enjoying this.

(I also realize, in a strange hindsight, this is a terrible place to leave you, like an inadvertent fall finale and I didn't mean to guys, okay? It happened and I feel bad...)