Hotch awakes to a loud crash, and while he is always hyper-vigilant the circumstances of the past few days had really kicked his senses into high gear. He jumps up, grabbing his gun from its secured position in his bedside drawer- surely it was just a noise, but what if it wasn't? What if someone was here to hurt Emily again? His hands shook with adrenaline as he slowly entered the living room to find his bedroom door still ajar, as it had been when he had finally fallen asleep just two hours earlier. He slowly enters, searching the room for an enemy with his gun trained. What he saw might have hurt him worse. Emily is on the ground half-awake picking up pieces of a broken lamp. The sharp ceramic pieces. Have cut her hands and she is bleeding pretty decently but her 500-yard stare makes it clear to Hotch that she doesn't notice.
"Prentiss…. Emily?" Emily was brought back to reality by the softness in his tone, one she had never heard before, but she wanted to never lose. "I'm sorry I broke your lamp, I'm really sorry" she whispers, clearly the lack of sleep and trauma of whatever nightmare awoke her still had her in its clutches. Hotch's hand lands on her shoulder, she tenses out of habit before relaxing into the warmth and security of his touch. She almost laughed at how a week ago she would have begged for this interaction with Hotch. Now she wishes she could shrink herself to be anywhere else. "Emily, you are bleeding. It is just a lamp- everything is okay. You are okay. Please stand up" Hotch continues in a soft yet unwavering tone. Emily seems to snap out of it a bit, the shame gnawing at her stomach that she once again had embarrassed herself, shown her weakness, and inconvenienced her boss. When she realized her hands were bleeding, she excused herself to the bathroom to rinse them and tend to the wounds as well as she could in her condition. When she exited the bathroom, Hotch had just finished sweeping the glass into the dustpan and threw it away silently. Her stomach burned stronger.
"I am sorry Hotch, I must have knocked it over in my sleep. I will buy you a new one." Emily says awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with Hotch as to extinguish some of the embarrassment she was currently feeling. "Emily, its fine. It's just a lamp. Why don't we go sit on the couch and watch some television before it gets bright out, unless you feel ready to fall back asleep?" She could tell his soft inflection was more of a probe to gauge where Emily was emotionally, if she needed him. She really needed him, and she hated herself for that. She told Hotch that he could go back to bed and she would be fine, but her hesitation at his bedroom door told him all he needed to know. He brought blankets out to the couch and flipped on some re-runs of friends. He remembered that Emily had liked that show. He made himself small on one end of the couch, leaving the rest for Emily to choose between. She sat in an awkward position between the arm of the couch and Hotch. Touching neither, he could see that she wanted to be close to someone, wanted to be close to him. She was afraid, and he was too, to be honest. He had always wanted them to be closer, something about their friendship made his stomach jump when she laughed. He wanted so badly to hear her laugh. He moved into her slightly, still not touching but assuring he was there. She softened at the contact. He doesn't know how long they stay like this, but he wakes up three hours later to Emily's head on his chest. Her breathing closely mirrored his. She was calm and at peace, no signs of Cyrus in her dream. He stilled and let her sleep, trying to tell himself he was helping her like any friend would. The feeling in his chest as she snuggled into him almost melted him, and it was harder than pretending he didn't love the women beside him. This wasn't the time, if there ever were a right time to tell your subordinate you love her. He closes his eyes resolved on sleep until she awakens.