Episode: The Fight
It wasn't as if Hotch had meant to throw her at Mick. Hell, if you would have asked him, he'd have told you he was just pairing them up because they were both capable agents.
And then Mick Rawson, who Hotch was beginning to become less and less fond of, saves Emily from a gunshot to the head and Hotch has to step forward and join the conversation as Cooper is yelled at by Strauss to dismiss the thoughts of Emily and Mick running through a field together with a large union jack flapping behind them in the breeze.
Not if he could help it.
So as a slight screw you to Strauss, but mostly a Get Mick Bloody Rawson Away From Emily Prentiss, Hotch suggested they all go to a bar. And when they all eyed their beers slightly, Hotch rolled his eyes and told them that by bar he meant club. And when they still looked slightly dejected, he told them he'd buy the first round.
JJ cheered. As in, literally, cheered right in his ear. Emily almost did the same, but stopped herself as Reid began citing facts about the amount of people who are statistically kidnapped in clubs.
Rossi tapped him over the head with his beer bottle and Reid promptly stopped reciting facts long enough for Hotch to grab the keys and make sure Emily was riding with him and not Rawson. Score: 1 for Hotch, 0 for Rawson.
At least, if you didn't count the whole saving her life thing.
The club (that a certain British agent who will not be mentioned brought them to) was packed, leading the two teams to be forced to sit, cramped, in a small corner booth. Hotch wasn't complaining though, as he felt himself get pressed up against the side of Emily. He wondered how weird it'd be to wrap his arm around her.
Purely for comfort. His arm was kind of elbowing her anyway.
Instead, though, the teams pushed and tugged him out of the booth, ordering him over to the bar to get drinks. Rossi followed him, carefully stepping around the gyrating bodies, wrinkling his nose, annoyed. He'd never been one for clubs and even though the rest of the teams seemed to be enjoying themselves, that didn't mean he had to.
"So how's operation Date Emily coming along?" Rossi prompted, not-so-subtly as Hotch ordered the first round. He turned towards his friend, frowning, and began to protest quickly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Right. Of course. Hypothetically, though, if you were in love with her, tonight would be a good time to make a move."
"Hypothetically, though, she has someone else on the mind at the moment I think."
"Rawson? Please. You can out-alpha him any day."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"
"No, a fact. Now go get the girl, Aaron.
"While the girl has a man sitting beside her making her laugh who just saved her life and also happens to be British?"
"Is the great Aaron Hotchner jealous?"
"No."
Rossi beamed at him as the drinks were served up. He slid two over to Hotch, nodding towards Emily, who was now in deep conversation across the table with Gina.
Good. Hotch thought to himself as he ambled over. At least she isn't talking to Rawson.
"Oh thank God. I was beginning to think you were just playing us when you said you were buying," Emily glanced up at the dark haired man, who dropped himself into the space beside her.
"Now why would I do that?"
"To buy our affection?" Emily suggested saucily, raising the drink to her lips.
"Oh you wound me," Hotch returned sardonically, as the rest of the team [those who were still in the booth and not dancing] got their drinks.
"Aw, do you need a kiss?" Emily fake-pouted and Hotch tipped his head to the side, raising his eyebrows slightly, smirking behind his drink as he sipped. She rolled her eyes, glancing over to the dance floor where Morgan now swayed, surrounded by a group of women (and a few men).
"Someone's enjoying themselves."
"Mhm," Hotch murmured his assent, his own fingers dancing over hers, wondering if he could pull her up and dance, but still appear as if he didn't have feelings for her.
Maybe it wasn't such a great idea. He thought to himself, decidedly twining his fingers with hers below the table, stealing a small glance as Emily's eyes continued to roam the dance floor, a tiny smile curling at the edges of her mouth.
"Hey, Emily, did I ever tell you about the time I almost shot the President?"
Goddamn it, Rawson.
"What!?" Emily turned towards the Brit, grinning in anticipation of the story. Her hand stayed twined in Hotch's, but he could feel her attention slipping and he didn't like it.
Not. One. Bit.
So he listened, bristling with every word uttered from the man's lips, with every laugh and smile from Emily.
His hand remained locked around hers and he felt a small squeeze on it at some point during Rawson's story, momentarily easing his anger.
But was it anger? His eyes moved away from Rawson, directly meeting Rossi's, who smirked at the Unit Chief and blatantly raised his left hand (the one that Hotch had curled around Emily's) and scratched his nose.
"Hey, Pren- Emily, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Emily turned towards Hotch, effectively cutting off Rawson's story, a crease forming on the man's forehead.
"Uh, yeah, sure," She turned back to Rawson, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, duty calls. I'll be sure to hear the ending eventually."
Hotch tugged on her hand, letting go of it immediately after as he slid out of the booth and moved swiftly through the mass of bodies and out the back door of the club. Emily followed in his wake, stepping outside soon after him.
"Hey, what's this about?"
"What's going on with you and Rawson?"
"Uhhh, we're talking...?" Emily raised a skeptical eyebrow, studying Hotch's blank face.
"No, I mean like-"
"Oh jeez. Hotch, please tell me you aren't jealous of Mick," Emily sighed, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering in the cold.
"I'm not jealous of anyone, why do you all keep saying that?"
"You all?
"You and Rossi."
"Ah."
They stood in silence for a few seconds, Hotch sliding his jacket off and putting it around Emily's shoulders as she smiled gratefully and leaned over, Hotch tugging her into a hug.
Purely for warmth. It was silly of him to bring her out here in the cold.
Yes, Hotch sighed to himself as Emily pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping protectively around her. Silly.
He leaned down, analyzing the soft curves of her body in spite of the sharp angles of his jacket around her shoulders.
"Emily," Hotch breathed, the name making a halo of ghost-like air swirl around her head, dissipating within seconds.
"Hmm?" She breathed, a second puff of air floating from her mouth as she raised her face to his. His hands crept up, finding the familiar spot on her chin, moving of their own accord now. It was all so familiar, a movement they'd done before, so many times, too many times.
His lips were so close to hers that he could feel the quiver of her breaths as she spoke. He could feel the soft texture against his own lips and it was making him crazy. But he stopped. Because she said his name.
"Emily?"
"Hotch we... can't do this."
He sighed. "I know," was his soft reply, lips pulling from hers. He really did know, but the desire, the temptation was more overwhelming than he'd ever felt before.
When he got home that night after being forced to take his jacket back and follow Emily inside, trying to remain stoic as Rawson greeted Emily on her return, he would reflect upon that moment. When they had been so close, yet so very far.
He knew, deep down, that if he had kissed Emily Prentiss that night in the cold air with their words swirling above them, he wouldn't have regretted it. He knew that if he had kissed Emily Prentiss that night in the glow of the neon club sign, wearing his emotions on his sleeve, he wouldn't have stopped.
Chocolate – Snow Patrol
Again, dedicated to HannahBananaJane! All my best wishes go out to you and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter! Don't worry, I'm still pondering that oneshot request!
To other readers: If you have suggestions for a good undercover oneshot with H/P then PLEASE send ideas my way in any form! Thanks for reading.
