Author's Note: Those of you who follow me on twitter know that the past month has been a whirlwind of endless auditions and vocal competitions for me. This is honestly the first time I've had the sanity and ability to sit down and let the words come through. Rest assured that writing is all I will be doing this Thanksgiving break, however; so stay tuned! And thank you as always for your overwhelming support. It is impossible for me to put into words how much it means to me.

Disclaimer in Chapter One!

Despite how relentlessly persistent he had been when asking Emily to come with him for one last case, Hotch now found himself feeling increasingly more regretful that he had brought her along. He didn't know why he hadn't realized she would do what she always did in the field; that she would put everyone's wellbeing before hers, that she would sacrifice herself for the greater good, that she would insist on going into the Smith household without backup for the sole purpose of having stealth on their side.

He knew deep in his gut it wasn't a good idea. Yet he let her go. He knew no one would be able to hold her back. Even Strauss had tried; and Hotch could taste the tension in the air as the two women stared at one another, engaging in a battle of wills. Emily had a point, however; she was no longer an agent of the BAU. She was just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door.

Strauss no longer had any authority over her.

Though it wasn't as if anyone had ever had authority over Emily Prentiss. Independent.The word flashed before Hotch's eyes, and he couldn't help but remember the day he had given the red jade necklace to her for her birthday. She had been absolutely over the moon…it had made him so happy to see her so pleased.

Oh, how things changed.

She wasn't wearing the necklace anymore. Hotch couldn't bring himself to be surprised. It wasn't as if they were being cordial. All of those pretenses had disappeared the moment they boarded the jet together. It filled him with a myriad of emotions, and concern was most certainly at the forefront.

He could do nothing but watch as Morgan handed her his backup piece, as she took a steadying breath and made to head into the house where their unsub was undoubtedly about to harm his next victim. He waited until she was a suitable distance away from everyone else before handing her his cell phone and attaching it to her belt. He knew he didn't need to tell her anything; she could read his instructions straight from his eyes. But he spoke anyway, his voice low. "As soon as you have probable cause, give us a signal and get out of there."

Emily caught his gaze, wondering at the way he had muttered the last four words. He hadn't been authoritative; no, he had been worried. Maybe even…caring.

She gave a swift nod, then cracked a barely amused smile. "I will. I'm a big girl, Hotch. But…you already knew that."

And with that, she disappeared.

~.~.~

Much to his chagrin, Hotch's concerns were justified.

Emily wasn't responding to his calling in her earpiece.

She wasn't making a sound inside the house.

She wasn't signaling them to come in.

Too much time had passed; with every second that passed, Hotch became more and more sick to his stomach. Something was so wrong, so very wrong. And they couldn't go inside the damn house, not without probable cause.

Hotch was sure he was going insane. He understood now more than ever why intra-team fraternization was severely frowned upon. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't focus.

He almost jumped out of his skin when, seemingly hours later, Emily pressed the key to signal them inside. He could feel the chaos thick in the air as they ran into the house. Cold sweat dripped down his neck as he heard a scream…

…and then silence. Drowning, all-encompassing, bruising silence.

He forgot what breathing was, that is was necessary, and how to do it when he saw Emily curled up on the floor, her wrists tied together, blood dripping down her forehead and onto her chest, ruining the pale pink blouse she was so fond of. He couldn't even spare Joe Smith so much as a hateful glance; Hotch barely allowed himself to disarm the young boy – the Devil's poor son – before making his way over to Emily.

No one else mattered in that moment. It was all Hotch wanted to do to take Emily into his arms and never let her go, to swear to her that he would never leave her side, that he would protect her for as long as they both lived. But he couldn't do that – not yet, not anymore. So he forced himself to settle with the next best thing. Carefully, he helped her to her feet, his heart wrenching at the throaty, pained little moan that slipped from her lips at the motion.

Of course, she was as stubborn as usual, and the moment she was on her feet, she gazed at him with unfocused eyes and frowned. "I'm fine, Hotch," she answered the question she knew he was bound to ask. "I can walk from here."

His lips stretched into a pale, thin line. He knew a lie when he heard one. Especially when it came from Emily. He knew her in and out. "Are you sure, Pr – Emily?"

"Yes."

But she couldn't. His stomach lurched as his gaze fell to the two-by-four on the ground that was smeared with her blood. She was undoubtedly disoriented, with at least a mild concussion and a cut deep enough to need stitches. Her wrists would be bruised…only God knew what else the bastard had done to her before she had been able to call for help.

Yet here she was, insisting she was fine.

Hotch would have none of it. Catching Emily as she almost fell to the ground once more, he made up his mind. Whispering placating words under his breath, he lifted Emily in a fireman's hold. He expected her to fight, to demand he put her back down, to shout to the heavens and beyond that she needed no one's help.

Instead, she looped her arms around his neck and held on tight as he carried her to the waiting ambulance. It surprised him as she burrowed her face into his chest, breathing him in; though, when they stepped out of the dreaded house, he knew why she was doing it.

Cameras surrounded them. Reporters swarmed the lawn like moths to a flame, and even the resident police officers were having a hard time containing them. FBI involvement in a neighborhood case never failed to make the headlines of local papers. Once again, Hotch didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him that this time would be no exception.

Hotch caught Dave's gaze from far away, and all it took was one barked order to get what he wanted done.

"Get the press out of here."

~.~.~

He didn't really want to be one of those people who could do nothing but hover, but Hotch didn't know what else to do while Emily was being checked out by EMS. He hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to her. It was a frightening sight; almost every time he glanced over at her, there seemed to be more blood marring her perfect, beautiful skin. It was a sight he knew would be burned into his vision for the rest of his life. He thought of her enough as it was; day in and day out, without fail.

That was the one thing Haley couldn't and wouldn't change.

"You're making me nervous."

He barely heard the muttered words, and if it hadn't been for the telltale look on Emily's face, he would have been sure nothing had been said. He blinked in confusion. "Sorry?"

"You're making me nervous," she repeated, her voice raspy yet flat. "You're hovering. Again."

The struggle to stay professional was the most ruining he had ever experienced. "I…didn't mean to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." I wanted you to know that, despite everything, I do care.

"I'm fine, Aar – Hotch." Unable to do much else at the moment, she raised an eyebrow in the direction of the EMT that was looking her over. "I'm in good hands."

"That's not what I meant and you know it –"

But it was clear Emily was done talking to him. Instead, her attention moved from him to Morgan and JJ, who came over almost instantly and began fussing over her. Hotch watched with ill-placed envy as JJ ran a hand through Emily's hair to comfort her; as Morgan gave her hand a consoling squeeze. Hotch wasn't even spared a single other glance. The pain he felt in result was worse than anything he had ever physically endured. He supposed he deserved it. He had been an ass to her the day before. And days before that as well. The game they were playing was a nasty one. But he knew it wouldn't be ending any time soon.

He was just going to have to find a way to deal. He couldn't help but realize, however, that, if he had been in any other situation, his saving grace would have been Emily himself.

With a burning sensation in his throat, Hotch took his leave, never once noticing the way Emily's gaze settled on his retreating figure for a second longer. A second was all it took. One second, and they were on the jet once more. One second, and it was finally night.

One second, and years had flown by.

"Emily."

Hotch had the feeling she wasn't truly sleeping; everyone else on the jet was, but there were some things he just knew about the woman. She hadn't been able to sleep the night of her accident, so it wasn't surprising that she couldn't sleep now. Three days in Milwaukee had been three days too many. It was dark and quiet and felt like home as they traveled miles above city after city, but there was still an emptiness inside Hotch's chest as he moved so that he was closer to the long seat Emily was sprawled out on.

"Emily," he whispered again, and it took every ounce of restraint he had to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm not asking you to talk. I'm just asking you to listen…if you can."

He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry. My actions two days ago on our flight were completely…inappropriate and hurtful, and the things that I said were even more so. They were lies that were said in the heat of the moment and I regret having opened my mouth in the first place. It's been on my mind all day; you've been on my mind all day. I know a simple apology isn't enough to reverse the mess we're in – the mess I've only increased. But I hope you know that, despite the angry remarks…I really was genuinely fearful for you yesterday afternoon. Not just because you're my agent and an integral part of this team."

Hotch shook his head, and he swore he saw Emily's eyelashes flutter just the tiniest bit. "You can call me a coward for saying all this when everyone else thinks you're asleep. When, let's say I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, you are asleep. But…call me crazy, I know you're awake, and I know you can hear this. And I guess that's all I want."

He gazed at her for a second longer before rising to his feet, whispering good night, and striding back to the seat across from Dave he had previously been resting in. A newspaper was spread out before him, on the small pullout table separating him from the others in front of him.

Emily recognized the newspaper because a copy of it was folded up in her go-bag. Her open eyes hidden by long lashes and eerie night shadows, she watched as he read the cover story and drank in the accompanying picture.

It was of them. She remembered the cameras flashing all around them, the underpaid journalists clamoring for even the simplest quote that would break open the story for them. It was all about the exclusive; privacy no longer mattered, and it hadn't for too long to count. She had practically memorized the printed story, word for word.

As for the picture...

...when no one had been looking, she had cut it out and tucked it away. The captured moment of Hotch holding her close made her heart skip a beat. The man himself did. He could be a pompous ass...but deep down inside, Emily had an inkling that her feelings for him would never change. A part of her wanted to curse that. It wasn't fair! She didn't have the need to rely on anyone but herself. She needed no man. Yet she founded herself needing him more than ever. The picture told her that.

Hotch had yet to look away from it.

And Emily had yet to look away from him. Even as her head began to throb from her concussion the day before, Emily couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. Instead, she mouthed a good night in response and stared at the jet ceiling until she heard his breathing even out. It was a rhythmic lullaby she had heard many times before; one that set her at peace almost as well as the man himself. The day was done, the world that much safer.

As for them? They were...Aaron and Emily. Hotch and Prentiss. They were stuck, but they would fight it – fight for one another. It was just a matter of when.

~.~.~

"How was the case?"

"You mean you haven't heard the story all over the news?" Hotch's tone was dry, cynical. He paused for a moment, then met his ex-wife's gaze. "I'm…sorry. I didn't mean to sound so crass. It's just been a really long three days."

"I can't imagine," the blonde said, watching from nearby as Hotch unpacked his go-bag. "It was a rough one?"

That made a mirthless whisper of a laugh slip past Hotch's lips. "They all are. But this…this was bad." He knew she wouldn't want to hear about a cancerous man spending his last days cutting out and preserving women's hearts for his son – she had never understood the job – so he skipped to the end of his tale. "The unsub beat Emily over the head with a two-by-four."

Haley's eyes flew open. As much as she didn't want to hear about the other woman, Hotch's answer hadn't been one she was expecting. "Oh my God. Is…is she okay?"

"She's got a concussion, a cut on her temple that needed several stitches, and some nasty bruises. But Emily's a fighter," he said, more to himself than to Haley. "She'll be fine."

Silence lapsed between them. Hotch milled around the room, placing dirty clothes in the hamper and clean ones in his bag. The life of an agent never stopped; it was simply an endless cycle. Finally, the only thing that remained in his hands was the copy of the Milwaukee newspaper he had taken home with him. He stared at it for a second longer before placing it in the nightstand near the guest bed – his bed – but not before Haley got a clear glimpse of the front cover photo. She wisely kept quiet, though she couldn't suppress the tinge of jealousy that flashed through her.

Finally, Hotch let out a sigh. "Look, Haley, I think I'm just going to say goodnight to Jack and then go to bed. I'm exhausted."

"Okay," she relented, watching him with unreadable eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hotch's eyes fell shut as Haley's small hands came to rest on his shoulders and began to knead – or at least, try to knead – the kinks out of his broad shoulders. "No," he whispered a beat later, taking a single noncommittal step forward. "I'm fine, Haley. Good night."

Author's Note: I'm on a roll with the cliffhangers, I know. And this doesn't even technically count as one, since I scaled this chapter back and ended it earlier than I had originally planned. I'd like to think it was a better decision to end the chapter here...since I was fairly certain I wouldn't be alive for much longer if I ended it where the next chapter begins. But anyway. I promise you this is worth your time - and reviews. You all provide the best motivation and inspiration for me, and I must repay you somehow! So please, if you have a moment, feel free to tell me what you think. I am so thankful!

Also, the final ballot for the Profiler's Choice Awards has been posted on the Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. Thank you so much to everyone - all of you - who nominated Kiss The Cook for the Best Hotch/Emily category! I'm really honored. If I could ask for just one more minute of your time: it would mean the world to me if you'd head over to the link posted below (remove all spaces) to cast your vote.

www. fan fiction.

net/topic/74868/73609377/1/#73609533

Final voting ends November 30th. As always, thank you so much for your support! Happy Thanksgiving to you all!