This is my Christmas gift to you all. I'm going away for the holidays, and won't be back until the 30th of December. So, sorry for the upcoming wait :(

Hotch sat back down, leaning his back against the wall, stretching out his legs. It was one of the most pleasurable feelings he had had in a long time. Eight days to be exact. He knew because he had started counting from the beginning. Well, the eighth day was a guess. Since Emily had been deposited in his room, and he knew it to be his room because he had scratched a cross on one corner and a circle on the opposite corner. He had contemplated the fact that at some point The Observer may move him, and taken the appropriate precautions to allow himself the opportunity to recognise if he had been moved. Of course, it had taken him many hours to scratch those little crosses and circles, the ropes binding him had hindered him, and made it extremely difficult to move across the room. He just hoped that The Observer had not realised his motivations, and had simply assumed he was passing the time.

He rolled his neck, feeling the tension release, his chest and abdomen still ached with the burning and pinching of the scars and wounds on him. He was grateful to Emily for cleaning them, it had been something he had initially been worried about.

"Are you all right?" He asked her, allowing her into his world for the moment. He had had to pretend she wasn't there to get himself back on track. He recognized that she truly hadn't meant to touch his feet that way, and that ordinarily on anyone else it wouldn't have meant the same thing, and they most certainly wouldn't have reacted the same way he had. It was embarrassing to say the least, and he sincerely hoped that she didn't know what it meant.

"Yeah." She still hadn't moved from her original position. But she was looking at him intently, unsure of what was happening.

"He hasn't hurt you?" He didn't want to believe that she had suffered through the same torture as he had. But he also knew that her original reaction to sound gave the impression that her experience was very different to his.

"No, I wasn't…tortured." She stumbled over the word, hating that it meant he had, in fact, been tortured. "At least, not physically."

He didn't even need to voice the next obvious question. A simple tilt of the head, and an impulse to lift his eyebrow got her to elaborate.

"I was in a room, like this…I think. I don't know, I couldn't see anything. Pitch black. No sounds, I wasn't allowed to talk. Every time I tried, a horrible noise would come, it was painful. Really painful." Her faced cringed with the memory. He could understand her initial reluctance to speak, especially around him. "You said, he?"

Hotch started with surprise at her question. "Yes, the man who abducted us."

"What man?"

He stared at her incredulously. "You've not seen anyone? No one at all since coming here?"

"You're the first person Hotch, and I know you didn't do this."

Hotch looked downwards, intent on the floor, thinking and disregarding profiles of the UnSub he had made. This changed things greatly. His entire understanding of The Observer was wrong. If Emily did not encounter the same man as he did, in fact did not encounter any man at all; the entire profile had to be re-evaluated. The UnSub's preferences and purposes were, although still unknown, even more of a mystery to him. This was bad, very bad. And he needed to let Emily in on their 'relationship'. He beckoned her over, indicating that she should sit next to him.

Emily looked at him nonplussed. He gave her an encouraging smile, one of his smiles she had never seen before. Mainly because he rarely smiled at work. She was too tired at this point to wonder at any deeper meaning in his strange requests. She pushed herself up off the floor and moved out of her sitting position. Scrambling over to Hotch and the wall, she carefully manoeuvred her way next to him. He immediately rearranged himself, lifting his arm up and resting it over her shoulders, pulling her into his body. She tried not to react to the blatant invasion of her personal space, and the very obvious un-Hotch-likeness of his movements. He leaned closer to her, pressed a kiss to the base of her hairline and whispered "Watching eyes." She resisted the compulsion to look around the room. Deciding he must have an extremely good and well-thought out reason for doing this, she snuggled into him more, giving him the chance to explain.

He acquiesced, whispering something else to her, "UnSub thinks we're a couple." She closed her eyes at that, lest the UnSub see her rolling her eyes in complete bewilderment. That was just insane. Hotch didn't think of her that way, never would, didn't want to.

There had to be a reason for Hotch to tell her this though, and while she pondered on that, she reached out and grabbed his hand, the one laying on his far knee. They sat together on the floor, holding hands, looking the picture perfect couple taking comfort from each other. She squeezed his hand, signifying she was ready to hear more.

Hotch was surprised when she grabbed his hand, he didn't know if it was Emily or the character 'Emily' taking his hand. It was a brilliant move on her part though, he concluded. A couple would take comfort from each other in a moment such as this, and it gave them an extra closeness and allowed them in to converse, in muted whisper, the extent of their 'relationship'.

"Together for a couple of months. Deliberately vague." He pressed his face closer to her head, emulating smelling her hair, the manly version of taking comfort. Or arousal, but in this situation he doubted it would instill that attraction in the husband/boyfriend/partner he was supposed to be portraying. Unfortunately, his body didn't seem to recognize that their current situation was fraught with danger. It instinctively clenched as he smelled the deliciousness that was Emily Prentiss. How had he not realized the absolutely wonderful way she smelt? He tried to place the fragrance while continuing the recounting of pertinent information.

"Taunted me with your relationship with Morgan." He felt her instantly stiffen, she pulled back.

"WHAT?" She half-shouted, staring at him intently. As he watched her more closely he realized that what he thought was concentration was actually out-rage. He couldn't tell why, was it because she really was outraged, or was it merely another play-act designed to gratify The Observer. Then he realized that The Observer couldn't hear them, and her behavior would be construed very strangely. She needed to stop this, hide the feeling, or at the very least say something else to explain her behavior. It would be better and easier for him if she would just relax. Better still if she relaxed back into him. He missed her presence, he wanted to smell her again, catalog that fragrance that was inherently Prentiss.

How could anyone misconstrue her relationship with Morgan? They were best friends, and in this day and age there really shouldn't be any stigma attached to that. Women and men could be friends without the need to believe that they were romantically involved. Of course, there had been a few tense moments in the beginning of their friendship that could have led to a different kind of relationship than the one they had. But at the time, she hadn't been ready to pursue an in-work relationship, wasn't even sure she wanted to do that kind of thing…ever. But she had seen the way Morgan was around Garcia, noticed the way women flocked to him in bars and had concluded that they would be better suited as friends, best friends, not anything more. It always felt nice to flirt and tease Derek without the wondering, contemplating if they would get together. It was so comforting to know that Derek had her back, and would protect her, and tease her, be there for her for everything and anything. The same went for him. She was his closet confidant these days, she was well aware that before she arrived he had no one to confide in, no one to take him at face value, without expecting anything more. It was absurd to think that she had Morgan and a sexually/romantically intimate relationship. This UnSub must not have been watching her that carefully if he thought that she and Morgan were having an affair from her 'perceived' relationship with Hotch. And then there was that matter. Who would ever believe that she and Hotch were a couple?

"Emily," he said, still in a whisper. She looked like she hadn't heard him, her eyes seemed far away, as if she was remembering something, or someone.

"Emily." He said much more loudly. His voice inflecting it with a need he hadn't meant. It made him sound…pleading, wanting, reliant on her. He shook off the internal disbelief and realized that The Observer would probably attribute it to their relationship and the situation, he only hoped that Emily understood what he had unintentionally done. Saying her name seemed to have snapped her out of her rage, or indignation, or whatever it was that had her thralled.

She looked back at Hotch, he seemed worried. Maybe she had been a little too loud in her exclaimed of shock. But that wasn't totally unexpected, he couldn't fault her for being surprised.

She came back to him, resting her head on his shoulder this time. Together, their hands lay resting on her thigh, the one closest to him. His other arm, still across her shoulders, fell a little bit and supported her along her back. He turned his head, looking over the crown of hers, and stared blankly at the stucco, stupidly blank wall. Soon their breathing was synced and he couldn't think of anything more to say. Until they knew the next move of the UnSub nothing could be done or even hypothesized. They were at the mercy of time it seemed, and for now, he was content to let every happen at it's own pace.

"What now?" She asked, more to hear her voice one more time than any real need to ask, or to have an answer.

"I don't know. I guess we just have to wait for The Observer." Hotch had relaxed into the feeling of having Emily so close. Smelling that undeniably Emily-smell. Running his hand over her shoulder, feeling her tousled and messy hair catch and run over his hand. It was a pleasant sensation. One he wished to have many more times, as often as possible. He allowed that feeling to remain for a few seconds before reluctantly pushing it away. It was then that he noticed Emily had frozen. She had not moved, she hadn't breathed. If he were to look he would have found she had not even blinked.

"What did you say?" Her voice was not her own. It was dark, and twisting, blank with terror but infused with a rage even she did not know she possessed.

Uncertainly he replied, "…I said, we'll have to wait for The Observer."

She did not answer.

Inside the room above theirs, The Observer and The Exponent watched the pair. The Observer was glad that Hotchner had revealed him. He waited with baited breath to see Emily's reaction. He barely glanced at The Exponent, this was something far above any supposed importance to be placed on The Exponent. This was something special. He desperately wanted Emily to remember, to know, to understand. The waiting was a bearable pleasure though, one he was excited to see the end of, one he had been looking forward to for a very long time.

The Exponent, being a young man of fourteen, watched his kidnapper with an avid and self-preservationary air. His days were filled with lessons and explanations. His nights with dozing slumber, never knowing when The Observer would wake him to test his knowledge. If he did not wake quickly enough, he was treated to a thrash of the cattle prod. The same one he had been forced to watch torture the man, the man named Hotchner down in that room. Thankfully, the cattle prod was never active when used on him. Apparently, he was too special to feel the electric burn of the prod. No, he was The Exponent, it was not his position to undergo torture. He had also been made to watch the nightmare the woman lived through. The darkness and the silence, that was his own worst nightmare. But apparently not hers. The Observer seemed more interested in the woman, Emily, than in the man, but he delighted in torturing him.

The Exponent, for that was his name now, never again was he to be Christopher Malkin, hated to watch those sessions. He hated to hear The Observer relish in causing Hotchner pain, over the anguish, and the lies he told…terrible lies, making him think his girlfriend was cheating on him. It was horrible. He hoped his turn would come soon, when he could prove to The Observer that they were good people, that they deserved to be together and more importantly, deserved to be free. He only hoped The Observer would listen to him. He looked warily at the chair to the right of him. The Observer often caressed that chair, mumbling to himself. It was the most frightening aspect of his kidnapper. The man truly thought that someone was trapped there, someone he loved, someone he wanted very much.

Another cliff-hanger, sorry.

Please review, and let me know what you think of the progression :)

Arc

See you, probably in the New Year...well, not 'see' per se, more 'read'. But that sounds too strange to say, 'read you in the New Year'. Never mind...forget I said anything :)