Chapter Eleven

She felt five pairs of eyes on her and, in that moment, she hated him. Hated him for putting her in this position, hated him for staring at her like that. Hated him for the way it made her heart pound and her underwear dampen. Either way, she was choosing dare. By playing with him, by letting him play with her like this, she was choosing dare. She was daring him to finish what he had started, and he was daring her to be brave enough to take him on. Choosing dare would be the easy way out of this, for the both of them. He started it; she wasn't going to let him take the easy way out. If he wanted to play games, she would win them every time. He needed to learn that early on.

Barely missing a beat, Emily responded in kind, "Truth."

The rest of them were looking between the two, interested, bemused, but not suspicious. Only JJ knew anything was up. And Hotch didn't know JJ knew. And suddenly, there was an entirely new layer to their little problem that Emily hadn't even considered.

"Same question, then," He said, smirking, "Anybody special in your life?"

What an ass. She wanted to say, hell no, just to rub it in his face. Hotch had very clearly had one too many beers if he thought this was funny. It wasn't. She wasn't smirking back at him and trying not to get caught up in the laughter that rippled around the table. Their flirting was nothing new; Emily flirted with everybody. To the others, this was standard night out behaviour. JJ,who knew much more than the rest of them, was glancing between the two of them and looking like she'd just walked in on her parents humping. Emily hadn't dropped Aaron's gaze the whole time.

"You wouldn't know him," She responded, raising her glass to her lips to punctuate her sentence.

"Oh, damn, princess," Morgan exhaled, heavily, "You've been holding out on us."

"I don't kiss and tell," She smirked over at him, and from beside her, JJ let out one blast of laughter.

"Ha!" Her smile was fixed in place, but the eyes that met Emily's were panicked and apologetic all at once. Emily shook her head, minutely, but it was too late. From across the table, she saw Hotch take it all in. Shit. JJ, you're dead. I'm dead. Reid's really gonna hate it if we're both dead.

"And, on that note," She announced, taking the final swig of her cider, "I'm going to bed. Don't be up too late," JJ wrapped her arms around her middle to cuddle her, and Emily pressed a kiss to her blonde crown, "Make sure these two get to bed safely," She said as she hugged Rossi, indicating JJ and Reid, who she kissed on the cheek. "And, Morgan, don't take that girl to bed," she pointed towards the number on the table, which was now soaked and stained with red wine. "You'll end up with herpes or something just as unpleasant."

"Not my first rodeo, princess," Morgan announced, and from his pocket, be produced several condoms. "Ribbed, for her pleasure."

"You're a pig," She told him, affectionately, as she blew a loving kiss across the table. Morgan caught it and pressed it to his heart, where he drew a cross.

"You wound me." He joked, with a grin.

"Night, Hotch," She said, reluctantly. It would have seemed stranger if she hadn't bid him goodnight, so she did. He nodded in her direction, muttered something about "sleep well" and then she was walking out of the bar.

"Take your meds," She heard, from behind her, and smiled to herself. He did care.

The ride up to their floor was very different to her ride the evening before, but when she collapsed into her bed, naked but for an oversized t-shirt, Emily didn't even get a chance to lament her lack of intimacy today. Her eyes were closed before her head even hit the pillow.


Her sleep wasn't dreamless, but it was dark. She was walking, looking for something. What, she didn't know. All she knew was she hadn't found it yet. It was important. Where had she left it? Stretching her hands out in front of her, she tried to feel her way through the darkness. Every time she took a step, she thought she was going to hit something, but she never did. She walked, endlessly, through the dark silence. Then she heard the knocking. Where was it coming from? Her left? Her right? Her door?

Her door?

"Emily," the voice that accompanied the knocking finally brought her out of her sleep and Emily threw back her duvet, making her way to her bedroom door. She knew it was Hotch, but she peered through the peephole anyway. His tie was discarded, hanging out of his breast pocket, and his white shirt was open by three buttons and stained with what she could only suppose was Reid's red wine and his beer. He was leaning against her door frame with one arm, the other thrust deep into his trouser pocket. His hair was dishevelled. It was like James Bond had turned up at her hotel room door.

Emily had the fleeting, wild concern that she ought to check her appearance in the mirror, but she rolled her eyes internally at the thought, which made her feel like a flirty teenager, and unlocked the door.

"Hotch, do you know that it's," She leaned backwards to check the clock on the bedside table, hidden from view as it was, by the corner, "2:33am?"

"I didn't mean it," He said, mumbling more than speaking, so Emily had to ask him to repeat what he had said. "I didn't mean it," He said, loudly, "You are special. And you are in my life."

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. Amused as she was, she also thought it incredibly sweet that, in his inebriated state, Hotch had though it necessary to clarify this with her. At half past two in the morning. She supposed that, come the morning, the moment would have passed. Sober, Agent Hotchner would never confront her like this and speak so candidly. She wondered just how many beers he'd had, if he was only just coming upstairs to bed. She'd left them a little over two hours ago.

"I don't know what to say," She said, truthfully, still standing beside the door. Her legs were cold and she was suddenly aware of her state of undress. Crossing her legs, awkwardly, she waited to see if Hotch had anything else to say, or if he would disappear to his room, and leave this conversation as one they need never speak of again.

He did look as though he might speak, for a moment. His lips moved, pouted, almost, and then he leaned in. Panic flared inside of Emily. But he wasn't trying to kiss her. Instead, he lunged into her hotel room, tore open the bathroom door and, a moment later, Emily heard the retching and grimaced.

James Bond never vomited in his dates bathrooms.

When he emerged from the bathroom, it was to find Emily sitting on the edge of her bed. She'd located one of the hotel's fluffy towels in the wardrobe and had tied it tight around herself. It was still too warm in her hotel room, but, and perhaps it was silly given their recent history, she was uncomfortable being so undressed around him.

"Sorry about that," He told her, indicating the bathroom behind him. She shook her head and held out the glass of water she had poured for him. He swallowed it down, gratefully, and sat beside her on the bed, maintaining enough distance, she supposed, so as not to offend her with vomit breath.

Truthfully, all she could smell was all of the alcohol he had consumed that evening. Even on their wildest nights, though, Emily had never seen Hotch throw up.

"Feel better?" She asked, and he nodded, a tiny little nod, "That was kind of gross."

Wiping a hand over his face and through his mussed up hair, Emily could tell he was embarrassed. He began apologising again, but when he looked up at her, she had a fist pressed against her teeth to keep from laughing. As soon as she saw he shocked expression on his face, she couldn't hold it anymore and burst into raucous laughter. When she calmed down, and wiped away the tears that had sprung to the corners of her eyes, Hotch had the slightest smile on his face.

"You sound like a sorority girl when you throw up," She teased, and proceeded to mimic the noise he had made. It wasn't pretty, but it was funny, and it sent her right back into the giggles. James Bond certainly never blushed the way Hotch did in that moment, burning pink right up to the tips of his ears.

"Lemme alone," He mumbled, looking down at his hands, which were holding the now empty glass of water, though he was smiling.

"You've got to get some sleep, or you'll be grouchy in the morning," She told him, taking the glass from him and crossing the room to set it down on the dresser.

For a moment, Hotch didn't move. He was staring at her floor, elbows resting on his knees, and Emily worried for a moment that he was going to be sick again, this time all over her carpet. And how would she explain that? Because, of course, they couldn't tell them it was Hotch. She would have to take the heat for it, and Morgan would have an absolute field day with the information. She'd never live it down.

He wasn't sick, though. He just couldn't look at her for what he needed to say next.

"It wasn't just Reid, you know," He said, so quietly that she almost missed it. Confused, she didn't prompt him. She waited for him to speak again, knowing he might not. Leaning against the wall, she waited.

"Who missed you, I mean." He carried on, finally. Slowly. There was a sincerity in his voice that made her want to weep. "I knew you were alive. I think that was worse. Knowing you were out there and not being able to see you...hear your voice."

Emily wondered if, come the morning, Hotch would be happy knowing he had confessed all of this to her. Her heart was pounding in her chest again, for an entirely different reason than earlier in the evening.

"You were always just...around." He continued, turning to look at her. His face was bright, and he was almost smiling, as though reminiscing on an old memory. "Way back to when I worked for your mother and you were this...beautiful, sexy little college girl who bounced her way around the estate without a care in the world. You didn't even look at me, back then. Then, years later, there you are, in my office. Still gorgeous and smart and so intelligent. And then you were just...gone."

His train of thought seemed to leave him again, but Emily was still trying to sort her way through his statements. She didn't even know he remembered her from that Summer. You didn't even look at me. If only he knew, she thought, sardonically. She certainly remembered him; back then, he had been the tall, dark Agent that was out of her reach. He had made her feel like a child. Her crush had been nothing more than a school girl crush; the kind that never could, or would, be reciprocated. Or so she had thought. That was why she bounded around the estate, clad in outfits that Mother greatly disapproved of. To get his attention. She had succeeded, it appeared. What might have happened, she wondered, if either of them had the courage to act on their impulses back then?

Nothing, she reminded herself. He was with Haley back then.

"It was...not being able to see you and talk to you, not knowing if you were alright. We kept tabs but we weren't allowed to know too much. I...dammit, I missed you, Emily."

He was on his feet in an instant. All signs of his drunkenness was gone, as he neared her. He slammed his hands into the wall either side of her head, and Emily gasped, a bolt of excitement, and a lick of fear, coursing through her.

"I wanted to kill him," Hotch growled, so deeply that she could feel the rumble in his chest, that's how closely he stood to her. "I wanted to strangle the life out of him so you could come home. I wished him dead a million times over. But I didn't just want him dead. I wanted to do it myself."

The venom in his voice, the anger in his eyes, scared her. She knew he was telling the truth. She had been there; she had wanted Doyle dead, too. But the expression on Hotch's face was one she had only seen once before. When he was beating the life out of Foyet on his own dining room floor. It was terrifying to see that look on his face again. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. Up close, she could see the glazed look in his eyes. Come the morning, she wondered if he would even remember this episode. His lips hovered over hers and Emily could feel his breath tickle her skin. That wasn't how she had wanted this to go.

"Hotch," She whispered, calmly, as his lips drew dangerously close to her own, "We can't. You're drunk."

"I know," He admitted. "I know, but I wish I wasn't." He chuckled darkly, and the anger subsided as quickly as it had appeared, misty brown eyes boring into her own, "Or, if I'm wishing for things, maybe I wish you were."

She smiled, blushing, and put a hand on his chest. Feeling the wall of muscle beneath her hand, it took much more willpower than she had expected to press against his chest, rather than pulling him towards her, as she really wanted to do. He stepped away from her, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. He was the one who looked like the child, now. Like one who's been scolded by his teacher.

"I missed you, too."

He caught her eyes again, held them for longer, this time. There was a lot that passed between them in that moment. None of it passed their lips, none of it was spoken aloud. Their eyes spoke for them. Emily felt like she saw more of Aaron in that moment than she had in all of the years she had known him, and suddenly, the lump was back in her throat. Nodding, he turned and sat down on the bed.

"I'm sorry for being an ass."

Emily laughed out loud, amazed and impressed at the same time. "Words I never thought I would hear you say." She admitted, moving to sit beside him on the bed once more. "What brought the apology on?" She had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew, but she asked anyway.

"Rossi told me I had to apologise." Hotch confessed, and Emily found herself smiling even wider. There was that little boy, again. The one whose teacher kept telling him off. "He said I don't give you enough credit sometimes."

"He's right."

"I nominated you to run the team, Emily," He told her, and she noted that it was the first time he'd used her first name in as long as she could remember, that his voice was steady and strong, and not at all the voice of a drunk man, though that was undoubtedly what Hotch was at this moment in time. "You really think I don't trust you?"

"I think sometimes you don't want me to be right." She told him, and he pondered over her words for a moment. Emily had expected him to shut her down, so watching him consider her words was a new experience for her.

"You're better at the job than I was at your age," He finally declared. She was speechless. "I think sometimes that bothers me." He gave her a look that was almost sheepish, as though he expected her to yell at him, or kick him out. "Is that okay?"

"No," She told him, honestly, nudging his shoulder with her own, "But we can work on it."

That, apparently, was enough of a promise for Hotch, because he subsided into silence. When Emily glanced at the clock again, she saw that it was getting on for 3am, and groaned loudly.

"Now we're both going to be grumpy in the morning," She scolded him, mockingly. "Either lie down, or go to your own bed, whichever, I don't care, as long as you let me sleep."

Hotch looked at her like he couldn't believe what she was saying, but she was standing up and untying the belt of her robe. He averted his eyes in a moment of panic before he remembered she was wearing a long t-shirt. As she pulled back the covers, she looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Well?" She asked, "Which is it?"

"Can I stay?" He asked, sincerely unable to tell whether or not she was joking. In his eyes, she could still see the pain she had caused when she had gone away. It was that pain that made her nod, that pain that had made her say it in the first place. That pain that told her, whatever was going on between them, it needed to end as soon as they were back at Quantico. Because she couldn't inflict that pain on him again, and, with Emily, it was always just around the corner.

She climbed into bed and tried not to watch as Hotch stripped down to his boxers. She didn't like to point out that his bed, and his pyjamas, were less than ten feet away, and through only two very thin doors. When she felt the bed dip with his weight, she had to try and maintain her steady breathing. He kept his distance, but knowing he was there was enough.

"Goodnight, Emily," He spoke, softly, through the darkness.

"Goodnight, Hotch."