The visit seemed to be going well; full of fun and laughter and then it came to a crashing halt with the appearance of Hotch. He stepped into the room, noting the two dark heads bent over the partially assembled space ship.

"Time to go, Jack," he announced loudly.

"But, Dad, we're not done," Jack whined.

"You can finish it at home."

"I want to finish it with Emily. We both want to see how it turns out."

"Jack, you heard me. Pack it up," Hotch said in the tone that meant the discussion was at an end and he expected his son to heed his words.

Emily, surprised by Hotch's abrupt appearance, glanced at her watch. The visit had lasted one whopping hour. She had a longer visit with Jack in prison. "What's the rush, Hotch? Do you have somewhere more important to be?"

"An appointment."

"Why don't you leave Jack here and go to your appointment. You can pick him up later or I can drop him off at your house. This way he'll have plenty of time to finish. I don't mind watching him."

"Yeah, Dad," Jack chimed in, looking expectedly at his father.

"The appointment involves Jack."

Emily's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Something fishy is going on. It sounded like he was making it up as he went along. "If you knew you had an appointment today, why did you agree to bring him over knowing it was going to be a short visit?"

"I just remembered it."

"You just remembered," she echoed skeptically. Now she knew he was lying through his teeth. Since becoming a single parent, Hotch kept track of everything involving his son no matter how small. He would never forget an appointment.

Slowly she stood up, fixing Hotch with a level stare. "Jack, hold off on packing up for a moment. I need to talk privately with your father."

Jack's eyes flickered back and forth between the two adults, sensing the tension that was suddenly filling the room. Wisely he chose to keep out of it. "Uh…okay," he agreed, turning back to his Lego set.

"Thank you. Hotch, a word?" she asked coolly.

He nodded his consent. Silently Emily led him through the house and out onto the patio where they couldn't be seen or heard by Jack. She walked to the grasses edge, stopped, crossed her arms and took several deep breaths. When she finally turned to face him, her eyes were burning with indignant anger and hurt.

With the same fire in her voice, she asked, "What's going on, Hotch?"

He played if off like he had no ideas what she meant.

"Don't do that. You're better than that. What's the problem?"

"Emily…" he started, but the way he spoke said it all. Clearly, she was the problem.

She took a step closer. "If you didn't want to do this, you didn't have to. But showing up and then acting like an ass with an excuse that you could have tried a little harder at, was unnecessary."

"Jack wanted to see you."

"Great. And I want to see him. But you didn't need to come with him or even bring him if you were just going to lie to leave."

"I'm not lying," he claimed.

"Stop." Emily held up her hand. "I may not be a profiler anymore, but I still know how to profile. You're uncomfortable and you're making everyone uncomfortable too."

"I can't help it if I don't want my son around an ex-con," Hotch admitted.

The words stung. "Then you shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place. Whatever you think of me, I'm not a bad person and I'm not a bad influence on Jack."

"Maybe you're right. I shouldn't have agreed to this."

"Well, it's a little late for that. You're here and Jack's here. He wants to stay longer and so do I. We need to figure this out."

"It's not that easy, Prentiss," he stalled.

"Yes, it is…" she trailed off, studying his face. "Wait. You're afraid the moment you leave I'm going to hit the booze, get rip roaring drunk and then get behind the wheel to get him home. Am I right?"

Hotch's silence was all the answer she needed. "You know me, Hotch. You know I love Jack and I would never do anything that would put him in harm's way. You don't trust me."

Again Hotch knew Emily right on both counts. She loved Jack like he was her son and doted on him whenever she got the chance. Like she said, she would never intentionally put him in harm's way. She always put the welfare of others before hers and that added pressure, when combined with the pressure of the job, pushed her to turn to booze for help and not to her friends. How long she'll be able to resist the siren call of the bottle was what worried him. Prison forced sobriety on her by denying her access to alcohol for five years. How will she fare without that restriction?

But all of that wasn't going to get him out of his current predicament. He wanted to take his son and run, but the hurt in her eyes and voice stopped him. Emily really wanted, was looking forward to spending quality time with Jack and vice versa. If he denied it, it would make him the bad guy and that image didn't sit well with him.

"Dinner is at six. Please have him home by then."

Emily blinked at the sudden reversal. He hadn't denied that he didn't trust her anymore and she could continue to hammer him at him until he did, but she chose not to since she wanted to see Jack on a regular basis. Push Hotch too hard and she'll never talk to Jack again. She has already missed five years, she didn't want to miss the rest of his life.

She swallowed her anger and hurt, offering a small concession. "I'll have him on your doorstop promptly at five thirty. You have my word."

"And I expect you to stand by it," he said and went to tell his son about the change in plans.

"Oh, I will," Emily said softly to herself as she followed her ex-boss back inside. "Once I give my word, I never break it."

As Hotch prepared dinner, his thoughts drifted to Emily and the consequences of her actions. They spread far beyond her arrest and eventually imprisonment. It was apparent she didn't realize that her conviction put the whole unit under greater scrutiny. Every case she had participated in was reviewed in depth, looking for any discrepancy in her behavior that could indicate that she had been under the influence at the time. The process was still ongoing five years later. The bureau was working to avoid getting a public black eye if any of the convictions was overturned on a technicality. Defense lawyers up and down the board were still filing appeals on behalf of their clients hoping Emily was drunk on the job.

The team was also constantly monitored. All reports were sent to a review board to verify everything had been done by the book before the case was officially closed. Every decision he made was second-guessed and he has to justify in triplicate any requests for additional funds. It's been a long and frustrating five years and it wasn't going to get better any time soon. The threat of the team being disbanded and everyone demoted and reassigned was still a strong possibility. It would be years before the taint of Emily's poor judgment is eradicated and the team has regained its status as the best and above reproach. Emily has tarnished their reputation.

The doorbell ringing brought Hotch out of his musing. A glance at his watch as he went to answer the door told him it was five thirty. Jack was home.

"Five thirty on the dot as promised," Emily said as soon as he opened the door.

"You didn't have to ring the doorbell. You could have just come in."

"Jack said the same thing, but I didn't want to take the risk of you calling the cops and having me arrested for breaking and entering."

He frowned. "I wouldn't do that."

"Times have changed. I'm sure you're doing things now that you never thought of doing six years ago. Look at me. I never imagined I would end up doing time in prison."

The reality that she was actually going to prison for ten years hit Emily as she stood in line, cuffed hands secured to her waist and ankles locked in leg irons, waiting to be loaded onto the bus to be transported to the Greenblatt Correctional Facility for Women. The forty days she spent at the intake center being poked and prodded, tested, interviewed, investigated and finally classified was a walk in the park compared to what she was facing. There she could pretend that after the forty days were over, she could go home and forget all about it. Instead, she'll be spending the 3,650 days; minus the forty days she just served, dwelling on her wrongful conviction.

When it was her turn, Emily stood staring impassively at the barred windows on the bus while one guard compared his data against the inmate ID band she wore around her left wrist. At the same time, a second guard checked that the handcuffs and leg irons were double locked before roughly frisking her for contraband. He even forced her mouth open to make sure she had nothing hidden inside it. Once they were satisfied she was who she was supposed to be, wasn't carrying anything illegal and was properly restrained, one gave her a not to nice shove to the back.

With the chain running between her ankles restricting her stride, Emily carefully mounted the steps of the bus. She shuffled down the aisle and settled into an empty seat as far away from her fellow passengers inmates as possible. She turned her face to the window saying goodbye to her freedom and the life she knew.

"Listen up, ladies!" the guard said with a sneer once everyone was on board, rifle clutched tightly in both hands. "This is a one way trip to your new home. This is also a no frills trip. No food, no drinks, no potty breaks and most important, no talking. I don't want to hear one peep out of any of you. You're not to speak unless spoken to. Have I made myself clear?"

"Have I made myself clear?" he repeated louder when he was greeted with silence.

A chorus of mumbled 'yes, sir' filled the air.

He smirked as he slammed the barred door that protected the guards from the prisoners in case of a riot, shut and locked it. "Good. You might as well make yourself comfortable or as comfortable as you can in chains. It's a long ride with multiple stops."

The guard wasn't exaggerating. It was a long and rough ride. The bus was in bad need of new shocks so every bump jostled and rattled the teeth of its unwilling passengers. Emily was pretty sure her tailbone was going to be badly bruised by the time they arrive at the prison and the shackles already chafed her wrists and ankles. She kept her eyes on the passing scenery, trying to memorize it all so she had something nice and pretty to remember when her world was reduced to stark walls, bars and fences topped with razor wire. Though her face appeared calm, the jiggling of her right leg and the way her fingers played with the chain that ran from the transport belt locked around her waist to the leg irons betrayed her anxiety.

Emily did her best to ignore the soft sobbing and moaning coming from some of the prisoners. Unlike them, she was resigned to her fate. Her lawyer was busy filing appeals on the grounds that the sentence was much too harsh for a first time offense, but she had little faith her conviction would be overturned. The evidence against her had been rock solid. So solid that she couldn't poke a hole in it and she had tried her damnest to put many holes in it. Whoever had framed her knew what they were doing.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the bus pulled through the sally port of the prison and came to a stop. The guard armed with the rifle stood up and unlocked the door. "Everyone out!" he ordered, "And form a line."

One by one they shuffled off the bus and formed a ragged line, standing shoulder to shoulder. Some gawked at their new surroundings. Others, who have been through this before, simply looked bored. Emily's eyes were locked onto the doors leading into the prison. Once she stepped through them, she wouldn't be coming back out for a long time. A female guard exiting broke her line of sight and Emily silently watched the woman slowly walk the line studying each and every one of them with a critical eye. She gave Emily a longer look over than the rest, making her wonder if her reputation had preceded her. That wouldn't be good. The inmates…and the guards would make her life a living hell for the next ten years if they knew she was a disgraced agent.

The woman finished her inspection, circled back to the center of the line and said with distain, "What a sorry lot of convicts I've ever seen. When I call out your name, step forward." She held up a clipboard and began rattling off names.

"Prentiss!" she barked.

Emily stepped forward, head held high and eyes straight ahead, hating the way her name sounded coming off the guard's lips. She remained that way until roll call was finished and they were ordered to move. Only then did she let the reality of her situation settle in. With head now bowed and shoulders slumped, she followed the prisoner in front of her into the Receiving and Discharge Unit, the rattling of her shackles echoing in her ears. Never in her wildest dreams did she picture herself being chained up like a wild animal and being treated like she was lower than dirt by her fellow man. It was humiliating.

Inside the unit her humiliation only got worse. Once the symbols of her imprisonment were removed from her wrists and ankles, she was stripped of the orange jumpsuit and disinfected. Then she was subjected to a very intrusive search of her body to make sure she wasn't attempting to smuggle in any contraband. It took all of Emily's willpower to keep her hands on her head and not lash out with her tongue or fists as the guard's gloved hands probed places they normally had no right to be.

After donning khaki inmate scrubs, Emily's fingerprints were verified by scanner and was submitted to a new set of mug shots from the front and side, one that would appear on her prison issued ID badge along with her name and inmate number. She was also assigned a job and a bunk in cellblock B.

The final step in her total humiliation was the prison version of a perp walk. Carrying the additional institution clothing and health and comfort supplies issued to her, Emily and a few others were marched, single file, through the cellblock to their assigned cells. Those inmates who weren't working taunted them every step of the way. Emily's was on the second level. The guard escorted her up, roughly shoved her in and ordered the door closed. She would remain locked up until the end of the workday when the rest of the inmates returned.

Emily, still holding the plastic tote with her prison issued stuff inside, sadly looked around her new home away from home. The cell didn't seem large enough to house one prisoner, let alone two. It had double bunks along one wall. On the other was a desk with two swing out seats, two lockers hanging over it, a sink and a toilet. A barred window on the back wall let in some natural light and a view of the exercise yard. She hated it on the spot, and though she knew it was futile to do so, she wished she were anywhere else but here.

Letting out a sigh, Emily set the tote down on the top bunk; her assigned bunk, and went over to the door, wrapping her hands around the bars. She gazed forlornly down at the common area. From this point on she would have no say in how to live her life. Everything she did would be strictly regulated and monitored. She would be told when to sleep, when to eat, where to go, what to wear and countless other rules and restrictions that took away her right to decide. She was a convicted felon and it really sucked.

Neither had he. Emily Prentiss was the last person he would have expected to break the law. Her dedication to the job was something her always admired and it also proved to be her downfall. But he also had the same thoughts about Elle Greenaway and look at what happened. She murdered a man, albeit a rapist, in cold blood and got away with it because they couldn't prove it. It just showed that you really never knew what a person is truly capable of doing.

"Hey, Dad. Isn't this awesome?" Jack asked, holding up his Lego replica of the Millennium Falcon.

"It is," Hotch agreed and spent several minutes admiring its construction. "Now go and get washed up. Dinner is almost ready."

"Okay." Jack turned to Emily. "I had fun, Emily. I'm glad you're out of prison."

"I second that, Sport," she said, reaching out to tousle his hair. "Night."

"Night," he said and ran inside, leaving the two adults gazing at each other uneasily.

Hotch gestured at the open door. "Since you're here, would you like to stay for dinner?" he offered.

Emily realized he was offering her an olive branch and she appreciated the effort, but it was too soon. There were still a lot of issues between them that needed to be resolved before they could even consider themselves friends.

"I don't think I can, but thanks for the offer, Hotch. Maybe we can when we're on better terms. Besides I have a cab waiting." She jerked a thumb at the car idling at the curb.

"Okay. Another day then."

"Sounds good. Bye, Hotch."

"Bye, Prentiss."

He waited or her to get halfway down the walk before he called out her name. When Emily stopped and turned to face him, he said, "You were right earlier. I don't trust you, but I would like to change that." For my son's sake, he silently added.

Emily sighed and walked back up to him. "That's going to be hard, Hotch, because I don't trust you. You let me down big time. When I needed you in my corner, you were nowhere to be found and that hurt. It still does. When Morgan was falsely accused of murder, you and Gideon bent over backwards to prove his innocence. When it happened to me, you told me to get a good lawyer. That was the last meaningful conversation we had."

It was his turn to sigh. "All the evidence against Morgan was circumstantial. The detective was manipulating Gideon's profile to match his suspect. In your case all the evidence was direct, from the eyewitness accounts to the amount of alcohol in your system. I went through it with a fine tooth comb and I couldn't disprove a thing. What else could I do?"

Her anger flared and she didn't keep it from showing. "There was a hell of a lot you could have done. You could have believed me. You could have told me you were going to work on my case until you found the evidence of a frame up and clear my name. You could have stood up for me at my sentencing hearing. With you as a character witness, I might have gotten probation instead of ten years. You could have visited me in prison and attended my parole hearing. Dave is like you, he believes I did it, but he didn't let it stop him from being my friend and supporting me through the hardest part of my life. Did you do any of those things?"

"No, I didn't."

"I rest my case."

Without another word, Emily spun on her heels and quickly made her way to the waiting cab. Hotch remained where he was until the car was out of sight before going in to his son. Throughout dinner his mind kept drifting back to what Emily said. Maybe she was right. He saw the evidence. He was convinced she was guilty, but, out of courtesy for his once friend, he should have at least heard her side and looked into a little more.

Emily was still angry when the cab dropped her off in front of Dave's house. Not wanting to accidentally take it out on him, she collected Mudgie and took him for a long walk around the neighborhood. They didn't return home until she calmed down and could be pleasant company.

Dave had seen the mood she was in when she first returned, assuming things hadn't gone well when she dropped Jack off. When it was time, he offered to drive them to Hotch's, but Emily politely declined. Jack was her responsibility and she would make sure he got home safely all on her own. During the rest of the evening, he didn't press her for any details. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him, which he was perfectly fine with. Emily and Hotch had to work this out on their own. He had already done his part by giving Hotch a piece of his mind.

Emily called it an early night, but that didn't mean she went sleep right away. For a couple of hours each night before going to bed, she looked over the data Penelope compiled on the thumb drive. It wasn't easy to sift through five years of information and not helping things was that some of it was out of date. She bought several reams of paper and printed out everything. Then she compared it with the journals she made in prison. Whenever she came up with a possible suspect, she dug deeper into their history, creating profile after profile. She may not have the sources Penelope has access to, but Emily knew her way around the Internet. The person who framed her was somewhere in the pile of papers and journals. She was positive of that and when she finally found them, there would be hell to pay.