A/N: This story has 100 Followers. I am humbled by your interest!

Thanks to Natzinoo for collaborating on this story. It wouldn't be what it is without her.

Chapter 37

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"I should have taken a hand to hand combat refresher course with Morgan," Hotch thought as Foyet got the upper hand.

Hotch didn't lose hope until the fourth time he was stabbed. He couldn't believe how incapacitating the wounds were, as he slowly drifted in and out of consciousness. As he came to, Foyet climbed over him, settling down on Hotch's hips and upper legs. After monologuing for several minutes, Foyet stabbed him again.

Unable to move, Hotch lay there, bleeding out, as Foyet wandered around his apartment, taunting him.

Removing his shirt, Foyet illustrated how Hotch's scars would look, should he survive. After another thrust of the knife, Hotch lost consciousness for the final time.

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Hazy glimmers of light then darkness.

Hotch would wake, fighting pain and a heavy fog that clouded his brain, for a few seconds before succumbing to the blackness again.

Beeping machines, cool hands on his forehead, lights calling to him.

Hot, sweaty, and achy. Someone was wiping his face with a wet cloth, running their fingers through his hair, pushing it way from his forehead. He heard murmuring, a soft voice speaking to him. His eyelids were so heavy. Pushing himself, Hotch tried to open his eyes. The brightness burned and he shut them again.

Another few hours passed before he woke and he tried opening his eyes again. The hospital room was dim; the monitors quietly beeping and pinging. He sensed someone in the room, and slowly turned his head. Prentiss was slumped over in a chair, asleep.

His body ached, with soreness and pain. He tried to think but his head was throbbing.

Foyet.

Foyet had stabbed him. As the memories came rushing back, the alarms on the monitors sounded.

Prentiss shot up from her seat, her hands reached for her waistband before she realized where she was. "You're okay, Hotch!" Prentiss called to him over the sounds of the alarms.

Two nurses burst into the room, one checking his pulse and the other silencing the alarms.

A nurse leaned over him, "Mr. Hotchner, are you in pain?"

His voice cracked, "No, I'm fine. What happened?"

The second nurse started out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

"Prentiss, Foyet?" He croaked out and the nurse adjusted his bed, sitting him up. Hotch felt ridiculous as he sipped from the straw as the nurse held the water cup up for him.

The nurse stepped back as Hotch asked again, "Foyet?"

Prentiss stepped forward, her face was battered. Shocked by her appearance, he flinched, and pain rocketed through his sore body.

"He's dead, Hotch."

"Emily?" He spoke her given name, caressed it, as he wished he could caress her swollen face.

"I'm fine. How are you? Are you in pain?"

"No, what happened to you?" Hotch asked her.

The nurse finished taking notes, and put his chart back on the foot of the bed. She left and Prentiss stepped closer to the bed. She reached out, almost touched his hand but then she pulled back.

The doctor stepped into the room and Prentiss returned to the chair, sitting quietly.

"Agent Hotchner, good to see you awake. I'm Dr. Mills. You came through surgery just fine, and we are administering a pain reliever, as well as antibiotics as a precaution in case of infection." The doctor spoke as she read his chart. She glanced up at the monitors and jotted down a few notes, "How is your pain level?"

"Fine." Hotch replied.

She glanced at Prentiss, "I see you are using the FBI scale of pain management, so I am going to give you another dose. It won't knock you out." The doctor pushed a button on a machine connected to Hotch's IV, "And Agent Prentiss, we had an agreement."

Prentiss nodded, "I'll stop by the nurses station shortly."

After the doctor left, Prentiss stood up and pulled the chair closer to Hotch. She sat at his bedside, close enough to touch.

"Emily, are you okay? What happened?"

She took in a deep breath, and reached out to hold his hand.

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Her cool hands held his, rubbing the bare skin not covered by a bandage.

"Your phone was in my car, it must have fallen out of your pocket after I drove us back from the airstrip. It rang, and I found it wedged in the seat. You had a missed call from Strauss so I thought I would bring it to you." She rambled nervously.

Hotch nodded, indicating she should continue.

"I pulled up to your apartment building but there wasn't parking in the front, so I had to circle the building. I parked on a side street, and as I walked by the alley behind the building, I saw a man putting something big into a van. It didn't look right so I slowed down, and that's when I recognized him, ." She stuttered, unable to say his name before spitting it out as if the very word was offensive, "Foyet."

She let out a shuddering breath, "I pulled my gun, and announced myself. He laughed and dropped you, putting his hands up. I approached, and he barreled into me. I shot him once but he didn't seem to notice. He slammed my head into the concrete. I shot him again and again, and he finally stopped moving."

Pausing, she closed her eyes, "I thought you were dead. But then when I unwrapped you." She choked on her words, and took a minute to calm herself. "I called for an ambulance; you had lost so much blood, Hotch. I didn't think you were going to survive."

Tears flowed steadily down her raw and swollen face, and he gripped her hand tight.

They sat, her in a chair, him in the bed, holding hands.

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A/N: Keep in mind this is AU; And I don't know anything about nursing or doctoring

Episode referenced Season 5, Episode 1: Nameless, Faceless