Chapter 40: For The First Time

And we don't know how, how we got into this mad situation

Only doing things out of frustration

Trying to make it work, but man, these times are hard

In the tiny bathroom on the plane, he splashes cold water on his face and stares at his ashen reflection in the mirror. Pull yourself together. Now isn't the time for emotions. The team is looking to him for direction, for his unwavering leadership, for the calm impassivity that comes with how he handles every case they take on. And now that two of their own are in danger, they need him in a way like never before. It's one of the evils of being Unit Chief - the ability to maintain a clear head, along with the required neutrality and objectivity during times like this. It's a line he's always been able to maintain with little difficulty.

Except this is different. This is different, personal, and he's partly to blame for all of it. He'd been the one to sign off on this, despite the inkling telling him it was a bad idea. He'd pushed his own reservations aside, because Emily had assured him that it would be alright.

And how wrong she'd been.

"You're still thinking about it," she'd said as she laid with her head on his chest, thirty minutes after he'd carried her back to bed, leaving their half-eaten grilled cheese in the kitchen. "Aaron, I've dealt with much worse, you know." He is, of course, oblivious to the true meaning of her statement, and he'd brushed it off as her typical stubbornness, her dedication to the job she does so well.

"I still don't think it's a good idea."

She moves quickly, straddling his waist in a smooth shift of her weight, pressing her hands against his chest. "I think," she whispers, tossing the sheets aside. "I think I should take your mind off of things." And then she proceeds to rock her hips before sliding down onto him yet again, leaning down to kiss him once more.

"Aaron." The knock from the other side of the door is obviously Dave, who has kept a close eye on him since they'd seen the news. It was Dave who reminded him he needed his go-bag when they left the BAU, who reminded him to call Haley and tell her she needed to keep Jack a few extra days. Aaron barely listened as Haley muttered something about his ridiculous schedule and how he'll miss out on his son's life, but even that barely registers because his mind is a jumbled mess of what if's and worse case scenarios. It's a dangerous, slippery slope, one he shouldn't go down at all.

There's another knock. "Aaron. There's only one bathroom on this plane, you know."

Right. He pops the lock and fumbles with the door, to find Dave leaning against the small kitchen counter. His arms are crossed over his chest, there's a cup of coffee in his hand, and even though he's clearly calmer than Aaron, there's no hiding the tension in his face. "We've got Garcia on the phone. She has some intel you might want to hear. Plus, they're looking for you." He tips his head in the direction of the rest of the team. Aaron can see them bent over files and a mess of documents, pouring over the case and what little information they have. "They need their leader. Get back up there and lead."

"Dave, if something happens -"

"Aaron we both know you can't let yourself go there. I know this is personal, for you even more so. We will get them out. But you need a clear head."

"I'm the one that signed off on this."

"What would Emily tell you to do?" The steely determination in Dave's eyes and weight in his voice is enough impetus he needs to rejoin the rest of the team, as if nothing ever happened at all.

This goes deeper than they even imagined, Emily realizes as Benjamin Cyrus's fifteen year old wife sits before her, hands folded piously. The girl pushes back on every single one of her gentle, yet probing questions, unyielding and strangely calm. Her devotion to him is eerie, and what makes it even worse is her own mother is complicit in all of it.

Maybe Aaron was right. Maybe they're in way too far over their heads, because none of this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be an interview, a quick assessment. In and out. But the news of a raid takes them all by surprise, the gunfire a little too close for her own comfort even though they're underground. Something isn't adding up here, and she's all but defenseless.

"You can't shoot it out with the cops. You have children here," Emily argues with a mix of fear and disgust as the gunfire continues constantly for at least thirty minutes. She can tell Reid is nervous, too, as now they're in a precarious position. They're both very much aware of the fact that their survival is dependent on no one finding out their true identities as FBI agents. It's only a matter of time, and they have to think quickly.

The only comforting thought is that by now, the FBI is most likely aware of this mess, meaning the BAU is on their way.

Colorado is hot and dry; the trip to La Plata County from the airport seemingly endless. The situation at the compound is growing more and more complex by the minute, based on reports they're getting. By the time they arrive, decisions have to be made, including one he knows won't go over well with Dave.

"I'm making you the lead negotiator. Why go to the students when I have the teacher?" Aaron knows he's putting him in a tough spot, given his connections to the case. It could easily backfire on them all.

"The teacher is emotionally involved. So is the Agent in Command." Dave says matter of factly, clearly not happy about the demand being placed on him. Aaron isn't at all surprised.

"I know I am. This is a unique situation. We have two agents who could affect the outcome on the inside." He doesn't have to mention any of the other aspects that complicate this unique situation. No - Dave is already very aware of that.

But clearly, he has some reservations. "This is bad, Aaron. We need an unbiased party. Put someone else in charge. Half these people were at Waco. They know what they're doing." Dave attempts to reason with no luck.

"I know how bad this is. That's why I want you doing the talking." What he won't admit is that he doesn't trust anyone else to do the job, but he doesn't have to.

Dave reluctantly agrees, only to watch with his own two eyes as Aaron all but tears the head off of the Colorado Attorney General a few short moments later.

"I demand to know why I wasn't told why the FBI was sending undercover agents to the Septarian Ranch," the man drawls, clearly annoyed at the fact he's even there in the first place. Aaron makes no secret of his intentions, lashing out without a trace of amicability, or even a half-assed attempt to show him exactly what he thinks of him.

"You can't talk to me like that."

"Get off my crime scene," he practically spits before stalking away. There's work to be done.

Dave is less than thrilled with his surprising outburst. "What are you doing?" He asks incredulously. "I can't remember the last time I've questioned your judgment, Aaron, and I don't want to start now, but what the hell was that?"

"Remind me to put in a call to the US Attorney General when all of this is over," Aaron mutters. "I have a few words for him."

"That's the kind of thing we don't need," Dave hisses. "I know you're in hell right now, Aaron. I am too. We all are." He then lowers his voice. "But you need to keep a clear head. You owe her that much."

If only it were that simple.

It's labeled as a minimal loss scenario. He knows it well. They all do - the BAU wrote fucking handbook, for Christ's sake. But they need time to actually formulate a plan, build trust with Cyrus. It's Dave's first test as lead negotiator, one he passes with flying colors as he assures him the state police are gone, appeasing and placating with ease.

"So let's just stop this before things get worse," he says pleasantly on the phone, as if he were ordering a pizza or making small talk instead of negotiating hostage release as Aaron paces the floor. "Now, the three child services workers -"

"One of them is dead. It wasn't us." The complete lack of empathy or emotion in Cyrus's voice is chilling, his calculated responses even moreso. Aaron bites his lip, frozen in place, and they all breathe an audible sigh of relief moments later when he hears it's not Emily. That bides them at least a little bit more time.

Even so, it's a long night, one of the longest Aaron can remember. Dave hasn't left his side at all, especially after the showdown with the State Attorney General. He's been the epitome of calm since arriving in Colorado, and for that, he's grateful. Aaron makes a mental note to thank him later, when all of this is done.

Just when they think things can't get any worse, the news break later that day seals the deal.

"Anonymous sources inside the state attorney general's office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect Ranch. There's still no word as to why an undercover FBI agent was sent in alone." Flanked by JJ and Morgan, he watches the news with despair, knowing what will most likely happen if Cyrus has access to the same thing.

And in that moment, he realizes, this may all be his fault for sending them in the first place.

...

"Which one of you is the FBI Agent?" Cyrus's voice is menacingly soft and commanding, yet he's strangely calm. There's a gun in his hand, one of his lackeys at his side as his gaze shifts between them both. It's less of a question, more like a demand, and as if he wants to prove a point, he flicks the safety on the gun, pointing it at Reid.

There's no way around this, Emily thinks, for the first time questioning if they actually will get out of here unscathed. Experience tells her this can go one of two ways, neither of which are good, and the longer they wait will only make it seem like they have something to hide. She makes her choice within seconds and without hesitation, because Reid is already denying it, and that's only going to anger Cyrus more. "Me. It's me."

Cyrus stares at her, then glances at Reid, before his lip curls in a vicious sneer. And in that moment, she knows it's about to get worse.

And then it goes to hell.

It takes him all of thirty painful seconds to drag her across the floor by the arms with a strength she didn't see him possessing. Then it's up a flight of stairs and into a room of concrete walls that smells of mold and must, the walls lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. It's disorienting, she can't remember how they got there, but it's the last of her concerns when the door slams shut behind them.

"I told you not to put me in this position." Cyrus's fist makes contact with her face, a sickening crunch of bone against bone. The force crumples her to the floor as his knee connects to her face, her nose starting to bleed instantly. It sends pins and needles through her head, a flash of light behind her eyes, and everything is fuzzy as she nearly hits her head on the concrete.

Outside, they can hear everything.

Taking the headset off is worse than keeping it on. Listening to it all is unfathomable, but the thought of not knowing what's happening on the inside is unbearable. So Aaron puts it back on, only to hear Emily cry out in pain when Cyrus kicks her in the ribs.

"We gotta go in there." He's blinded by his own emotion and pure rage at what he hears through the headset, but he's quickly met with opposition from his agents vehemently shaking their heads, opposed to the idea.

"We'd be risking the lives of everyone in there," Dave says evenly, keeping his eyes locked on Aaron. "We can't do that. Not yet."

"Get up," Cyrus hisses dangerously, pulling her to her feet only to send her flying into a mirror on the wall that shatters to the ground on impact. One of the shards slices into her face, a searing burn across her cheek, followed by the warm drip of blood down her face, and another shove into the opposite wall. She's done this long enough to know they have ears somewhere; somehow they're probably listening, and probably already on their way in. Even through the painful haze radiating in her head, she knows that's a bad idea.

"I can take it," she breathes, as if daring Cyrus to hit her again, and he does, a solid crack across the face that nearly splits her lip open. "I can take it."

"Wait. Listen to what she's saying." Dave is wearing a strained expression clutching his own headphones, holding up his hand. "She's antagonizing him.

"She's talking to us. She's telling us not to come in," Aaron says with chagrin, his stomach in knots, even though he's far from surprised. There's one more thud followed by a whimper as Cyrus shoves her into the ground once again with disgust. Then, it seems to stop, a temporary reprieve along with the sound of another muffled voice. "Tie her up," is what he hears and that's his breaking point. He tears the headset off and stalks away, desperately in need of some air.

Dave isn't far behind, as he expected. "What are you doing?"

"Did you hear him, Dave," he hisses once they're out of earshot of the others. "He beat her while quoting bible verses. What kind of sick fucking -"

"He's an unhinged religious fanatic. What do you expect?" Dave's mouth is pressed into a thin line, clearly just as disturbed by it all. "You have to keep it together."

"I'll kill him," Aaron spits. "If he hurts her again I'll rip him apart." He pinches the bridge of his nose, scrubs his hand over his face. "If anything happens -"

Dave shakes his head. "Aaron, Emily is one of the best agents we've ever worked with. You and I both know that. She knows what she's doing. Now get back in there. We've got work to do. She can handle it for a little longer."

The only problem is, he's not sure if he can do the same.

Things change in a matter of hours, taking yet another turn for the worse.

"Time has run out. We've got to go in." There's a sense of urgency in Dave's voice that he hasn't heard since they arrived, as their worst fears are confirmed, thanks to some quick thinking from Reid. Cyrus's final plan is to blow the building with the remaining followers still inside. It's the worst case scenario at this point.

They work out the logistics down to the last second. It's all laid out - the point of entry, the rescue plan, the schematics of the compound, and the most important detail, 3 AM. It all hinges on 3 AM. Not only that, but they work through possible scenarios of things that could go wrong. Of course, there's always a very real possibility it could in mere seconds. It's a thought something no one wants to entertain, but a very necessary part of their job. The thought of it makes him sick, and he's uncharacteristically quiet during that part of the conversation.

Aaron has only one objective - to get Emily and Reid out of there. Once the room is silent, all preparations are made, and all he can do is wait, he takes a few moments alone to think. He's staring into the dark as Dave joins him. "I know I can't go in there." He sounds like hell, looks like it too, and he checks his watch once more. 2:44 AM. Time is almost moving backwards at this point.

"I'm going," Dave says. It's meant to reassure, but there's no way to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

"If something happens to her, or Reid, … I don't know. I've already lost her once, Dave. I don't know if I could live with myself if I lost her again."

There's a reassuring hand on his shoulder, along with a heavy sigh of agreement. "You're not alone."

...

Just before three, Morgan gives the go ahead. Right before he leaves with Dave on his heels, he gives Aaron a quick, reassuring nod. "We'll get them out, Hotch." He's confident and completely sure of himself, his face determined as they head out in a well-coordinated, efficient rush.

It happens quickly after that.

The noise from the explosion is deafening, yet Aaron barely notices the ringing in his own ears as the dozens of agents, uniformed cops, and bomb squad members mobilize toward the rapidly burning building. They're worried about a secondary explosion, the possibility of more detonators, and whatever else they might encounter, frantically calling for haz-mat and backup.

He waits with some of the officers a safe distance away, ready and waiting to usher the survivors to safety, and doesn't attempt to breathe as the first few scramble out in various states of distress and fear. Aaron finally spies her in the midst of almost two dozen women and young children, closing his eyes and subtly breathing a sigh of relief. She's headed right in his direction with Rossi close behind, and when her eyes meet his from ten yards away, there's an acknowledgement between them both - a reassurance that this nightmare is over.

He keeps his distance because he doesn't quite trust himself to remain neutral the moment he's close enough to touch her. Emily is calling for Morgan and Reid, unsteady on her feet, and Aaron watches from behind her as his other two agents finally emerge from the burning compound, coughing violently from smoke inhalation. There's shrieking and yelling, cries as families are reunited and wails from those that aren't. But Aaron hears none of it, because all he sees is the way her shoulders sag in relief when she hurries toward Reid.

Rossi claps his shoulder comfortingly when Reid envelopes her into a hug, a moment the two of them so desperately needed, one of closure and strength. "Let's take this one as a win. They're safe, Aaron. We got lucky today. Remind yourself of that."

Aaron nods, swallowing thickly. Dave is right. It's a win, even if it doesn't quite feel like one. They have a front row seat when Emily makes eye contact with Jessie's mother. The woman's face crumples as she falls into Emily's arms with an audible sob before stumbling away into the darkness, alone. One more casualty of this mess. But even that is the least of his concerns. He can already see the evidence of her encounter with Cyrus - the ugly splotches of bruises across her face, and around her eye, the blood stains on her shirt, and the way she's favoring her left side as she picks her way across the grass in their direction. His fists clench reflexively, he grits his teeth and closes his eyes.

"Aaron," Dave says again, this time more patiently as they get closer. "She's okay. Take a deep breath. You're even making me nervous."

It's a relieved reunion between the five of them amidst the chaos. Emily hugs Morgan again, then Reid once more too, before they amble off in the direction of the ambulances that are lining the property. Morgan has a gash on his forehead that needs stitches, and Reid doesn't argue when Aaron looks at him expectantly. It's an unspoken order that he too should be seen by one of the medics.

Of course, Aaron knows better than to demand the same thing from Emily, and he doesn't push it. It leaves the three of them standing together, watching the last of the SWAT agents exit the compound with the stragglers. Emily glances back at them, then at Dave and Aaron, a hollow expression on her face. He's doing his best to avoid staring at her, but now that he can see her more clearly, his stomach churns at her haggard appearance.

Dave steps forward first, wrapping Emily into a careful hug. "It's good to see you, Em. Really, really good to see you."

"You too, Dave" Emily says softly, with a sideways glance at Aaron when she pulls away. "Thank you … both of you." She makes no attempt to hug Aaron, and he wrings his hands, looking her up and down. "For getting us out of there." It's the waver in her voice that frays his last nerve.

"All in a day's work," Dave says, clearly relieved, but very much aware of just how close they came to losing both of them. "Or maybe three."

Is that how long it's been? Three days?

"I - I need to go find Mrs. Evanson again." Emily mutters, already looking past them. "Someone needs to talk to her...explain what happened. It should be me. She shouldn't be alone." She slowly walks away in search of the grieving woman, leaving Aaron with his hands in his pockets, Dave staring between them both.

"You know," he says slowly, "I don't think anyone is going to blame you for following her." Dave quips when he sees Aaron's eyes are still locked on Emily. "It also wouldn't hurt to let her know you're glad she's alright. Emotion isn't always a bad thing." There's a small smile on his face, one of the first he's cracked in days. It almost takes the frown off of Aaron's face. Almost.

"I know." Still, he knows he shouldn't leave the scene. He should wait until things have been secured and families accounted for, until the ambulances leave and the fire department has the still-burning compound under control.

Dave just shakes his head. "SWAT and the state troopers have this covered. They'll account for the survivors. I'll talk to Jessie's mom and take care of the rest. You go. Get Emily back to the hotel. You're no good to us here like this, anyway."

"Well thanks," Aaron says sarcastically. "Good to know how you really feel."

"Thank me later. Now get going."

Aaron gives him a quick, grateful nod before making a quick dash across the grounds.

"Emily." He calls after her, picking up his pace. He closes the distance between them in a few long strides, calls her name again. "Emily, wait." A few more steps and he's close enough that he could touch her if he wanted to, but he resists. She stops when she hears his voice, her back stiff and shoulders tense. "Emily." He sets his jaw and steels his nerves, because now that they're alone, the weight of the last few hours is starting to culminate. It's the first moment alone they've had since this nightmare began. Emily, please wait."

"That girl's mother deserves an explanation," Emily says, turning around slowly. "I need to -"

"Dave will take care of it, Emily. Right now we need to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine, Aaron." She keeps her eyes on the ground, her foot nervously tapping against the dirt. Of course, she doesn't want him to see the damage to her face up close. "How are your ears? I'm sure the … explosion wasn't -"

"Emily, stop." Without thinking twice, he tenderly cups her chin in his hand, lifting her face. That son of a bitch is lucky he's dead, Aaron thinks as he gets an up close view of exactly what she endured in that fucking compound. There are dark bruises ringing around her eyes, her lip cut, her nose and face ridiculously swollen with dried blood crusting above her lip and across her cheek. "What the fuck did he do to you?" Except he doesn't have to ask, because he already knows.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Aaron," she says, a little too calm for his liking. "Really. I just need some ice."

"You and I both know it's a little more than that." He does a quick inspection of the rest of her as best he can in the dark, carefully smoothing his hands over her shoulders and then to her hips, carefully moving up her waist, which makes her flinch. As he expected. He'd heard exactly what happened, but isn't quite prepared to see the smattering of bruises that undoubtedly are starting to set underneath her shirt, but he'll deal with that later.

"Stop," she says with a wince, as his hand connects with one of the places on her left side where Cyrus's boot was especially unforgiving. "Someone's going to wonder why you're feeling me up under a tree." It's an attempt at a joke, even if she's not smiling. "Can we please not do this here?" Her eyes shift over his shoulder, looking into the distance.

"No one's anywhere near us." Aaron takes a step back, his eyes full of concern, not even remotely amused at her words. He cups her chin again, tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "Did that hurt?" He sounds concerned, looking even more so when she nods. "That's not a good sign."

She nods slowly, already frowning at what's likely coming next. "I'm not going to the hospital."

"Then you have to deal with me instead." It's not worth an argument right now, but maybe one for later. "And if there's any sign your ribs are broken, I'm taking you in myself."

She considers him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Fine."

And then, before he can stop himself, he gingerly brings his free arm around her back, closing whatever gap is between them, and draws her in for a hug. What he's not expecting is for Emily to do the same. She rests her head against his chest, sighing with exhaustion, the first moment of peace she's had in days.

"I don't think I've ever been happier to see you, you know."

"That makes two of us." He breathes her in; she smells of smoke and blood and there's dust in her hair, along with pieces of plaster and bits of rubble from the explosion. Her clothes are dirty, and only now does he realize the collar of her once pristine shirt is completely torn off. But she's safe.

"Can we go home, please?" She whispers, her head still firmly against his chest. "Or anywhere but here? I just want to get the fuck out of here."

He kisses the top of her head, runs his fingers through her hair. "Come on."

Aaron drives to the hotel with an abundance of caution. It barely classifies as a hotel, based on what he's heard from JJ. She'd retreated much earlier - one of the upsides of being nearly eight months pregnant. For one night, it'll do. He pretends not to notice her every little whimper of pain whenever he brakes or drives over a bump. She doesn't say much and neither does he throughout the twenty minute drive that feels more like forty.

"Have you heard from Reid?" She asks quietly, her eyes on the road. "I - he feels - I need to talk to him."

"Reid is fine, Emily. Morgan is with him, and Dave is heading to the hospital soon. He said he'd call with an update once he's there."

"It's not his fault." She starts tearing at the peeled skin of her fingers, digging at her ragged nails. "He blames himself for what happened with Cyrus. He needs to know it's not his fault."

"Emily," Aaron says firmly but gently. "It's not yours, either."

...

She says nothing when he holds the hotel room door open, letting her slip past him. She stops, stares at the ceiling with a resigned sigh.

"What's wrong?"

She turns to face him. "I don't have any clothes. I don't even know where my bag is." Or my purse, or my wallet. She hadn't taken anything with her to the compound in case they were searched on arrival. In hindsight, she's grateful for that.

"JJ gave me a few of her extra things. She guessed on some of the sizes but it should work for one night. We'll send someone to the DCS Headquarters in the morning to get both of your bags before we fly home."

Emily nods gratefully. "Thanks." Of course he would have already thought of that, too.

"Come sit," Aaron says. "You need some ice." Someone had done their best to clean her up with the limited medical supplies scrounged together in the compound. But there's still some work to be done, and of course, make sure she's not injured any further. There's an eerie sense of familiarity from years ago as he tosses his things to the side and she sits on the edge of one of the beds. He pulls a few instant ice packs from his pocket, gives one a shake, and gently rests it on her swollen face.

"Where'd you manage to find those?"

"I have my ways." The slightest smile crosses his face. "Here. Hold this on." He disappears into the bathroom, and soon reappears with a few towels of different sizes and a cup of water. "I have some stuff in my bag, too, if we need it."

"You come prepared," she says quietly, and if he's not mistaken, gratefully.

"I knew you'd refuse to go with Morgan and Reid." He recovers the makeshift bag of medical supplies he'd procured right before the raid. "It's not much but it should do the job."

He starts cleaning the cuts on the side of her lip and across her face. Both are swollen already, red and angry, and if they were any deeper, he'd consider making her go for stitches. For now, some antiseptic will do, and covers the one on her cheek with one of the bandaids. The bruises are of various sizes, different shades of black and blue that mar her face. He's relieved because despite their hideous appearance, her nose isn't broken. "We need to keep an eye on your cheekbone," he says quietly. "It's pretty bad. And these wounds will get infected if you're not careful.

Emily nods, but Aaron isn't sure she's even listening. "Emily?"

"I heard you." She closes her eyes, lets him continue his careful assessment of her injuries. He's focused, determined, and clearly doing his best to avoid causing her anymore pain. Still, she can't help but wince as he gently maneuvers around her cheekbone. "You think it's broken?"

"It's pretty swollen. We'll keep an eye on it." It's meant to reassure, but it just makes her feel worse. She pushes his hand away, turns away from him for a few moments to pull some ragged breaths into her lungs.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks quietly, taking a few precautionary steps away. "We can take a break."

"No. Just get it over with."

"Then lay back. I need to check your ribs."

She sighs heavily but complies with his request, leaning back into the pillows and pulling up the hem of her shirt. He isn't fully prepared for what he's about to see, even if he knows what's coming. The bruises that nearly cover her entire rib cage and abdomen are even worse than her face. Most are larger than his hand, some a nasty shade of purplish-green, others still fully forming. Emily keeps her eyes on the ceiling as Aaron inspects the damage, feeling for anything misplaced or broken. Despite how careful he is, she can't help but bite her lip in pain.

"Was this from his knee or his boot?" He's peering at one of the bigger ones, on her left side, his face twisted with worry.

"His boot. He kicked me a few times." She eyes him warily, wondering if she should tell him just how many times it actually was.

"I'd say six is more than a few."

She stares at him, mouth slightly opened, her eyes wide with resignation. "You know … you mean you were -"

"I heard him, Emily." He doesn't look at her when he says it. He's not sure if he could conceal the sheer rage that courses through his face.

"You were listening too."Emily isn't completely sure why it takes her by surprise, but it does. Of course he was there with the rest of them. After all, he's in charge. Knowing he was privy to all of it makes her chest hurt even more than it does. He doesn't deserve that. She'd hoped he was spared of that - it's how she got through it in the first place. How wrong she was.

"I heard it all." He focuses his attention on one of the nastier looking bruises, doing his best not to make it worse as he checks for fractures because she's clearly already sore. Emily recoils at the throbbing pain it sends through her side, and Aaron stops, clearly concerned. "I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

"I know, Aaron." She gives him a thin smile, more for his sake than hers.

"What you did ...it was quick thinking. And brave," he continues on. "I wanted to go in. Dave said it would risk the entire operation.

"He's right. It would have." Emily flinches when his fingers press over yet another tender spot. "That's why I did it. I knew if you were listening to what was happening, you would have come in. Sure pissed him off though."

"Taunting him could have made it worse, you know." He'll never forget the sheer anger in Cyrus's voice as he'd just kicked her harder each time she insisted she could take it. He deserves to burn in hell.

"Who knows what Cyrus he would have done … if you'd come in." Even though he's dead, Emily can't help but cringe at the sound of his voice in her head, the burn of his fist and the sharp pain of his boot colliding with her ribs. It could have been a lot worse, especially now that she knows what he's truly capable of.

That sends an alarm bell off in his mind, raising another issue - one he's been trying to avoid even considering, even though it's been nagging in the back of his mind since they left the compound. She's right. The thought of what could have happened is nauseating. "And what happened after all of this?"

"He left." She averts her eyes, picks at the hem of the shabby covers on the bed.

"Emily." He stumbles over his words. "He didn't... did he?" His eyes ask the question he can't bring himself to say aloud. It's a damn good thing they're all dead, because he'd tear them apart with his bare hands if there's even a chance of that.

Emily narrows her eyes, but her face is so swollen and bruised she looks almost cartoonish. "No, Aaron," she says, resting her hand on his arm, understanding the implication of his words. "It wasn't like that. I promise."

"And you never lost consciousness?"

"No."

He nods, his face visibly relieved even though he's making every attempt not to show it. With a steady hand he brings the ice back to her face. "Keep this on for a few minutes." He fixes her shirt and helps her sit up, then settles next to her for a few seconds. "Luckily, nothing seems to be broken, just really badly bruised. You're going to be sore for a few days, and you're out of the field for at least two weeks."

If she's annoyed by his demands she doesn't show it. "I think I can live with that."

...

Dave calls shortly after with an update, as promised. They're all safely back to the hotel in one piece, discharged from the hospital and cleared to fly home the next morning. The news seems to soothe Emily's visible anxiety, and she breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he's hung up the phone.

The shower presents an interesting challenge. Her arms are sore from being dragged across the ground and tied behind her back. It makes hair washing an almost impossible task, not to mention it pulls at her sore ribs. Luckily, Aaron handles that, carefully massaging the shampoo into her scalp and rinsing it out. Emily takes care of the rest, rinsing away the dirt and grime from the last few days. Even the cheap hotel soap works wonders at this point. By the time he reaches for one of the threadbare towels on the bar, the bathroom is a thick cloud of steam and fog.

"One of my shirts might be easier, you know," Aaron offers as she stares at the shirt from JJ with uncertainty. At least a button down doesn't require any arms overhead.

She nods her head with an attempt at a half smile, inwardly grateful at the fact he just read her mind. "Okay." But when she drops the towel, she gets a glimpse of herself in the mirror for the first time. It hides nothing; the harsh light almost emphasizes every single bruise, scrape, and cut, each one an ugly reminder of the toll of the last few days. It's not what she expected, and what stares back at her takes the air right out of her lungs.

"Emily, what are you -" He stops with one of his shirts in his hands, stock still, when he sees her, wide eyed and staring back at her reflection, her fingers tracing over the discolored and swollen patches of skin. Her mouth falls open, as if what she sees is hideous, repulsive even. "Stop." Aaron steps between her and the mirror, draping the shirt over her shoulders. "Turn around. You don't need to see that right now."

And she does, but he doesn't miss the way she shudders as she slips her arms into the sleeves. "It looks awful, Aaron."

"It's only temporary," he says, sounding more reassuring than he feels, because she's right. He can't let his eyes linger too long, either. It's an all too real reminder of just how lucky they got today. "It'll heal. What matters is that you're safe."

There's two queen sized beds in the room, and Aaron contemplates asking if he should take the one she's not currently occupying. She's hardly looked at him since getting dressed, staring at the wall with the TV remote in her hands. He changes and double checks their flight arrangements for tomorrow then straightens up the room, biding time.

Of course, she remains silent.

"I can sleep in the other bed," he says after at least a half an hour has passed. "If you'd be more comfortable that way."

Emily looks up, saying nothing, just stares at him, wearing an expression he can't read.

"It might be better if you have more space to yourself."

"Aaron," Emily says quietly, still clutching the TV remote. "I really don't want to sleep alone."

It takes awhile but she finally finds a semi-comfortable sleeping position with Aaron right behind her. Only when she's safely tucked against him does her resolve start to crack and then shatter, and the tears start to fall.

...

A few weeks after Colorado, Emily wakes up in his bed one morning, the day after they return from Nevada. Her eyes slowly peel open, and it takes a full three minutes for her to realize it's Saturday, they're not in another unfamiliar hotel, and for once, there's nowhere to go. There's a mug of coffee, a few ibuprofen, and a glass of water on the table next to the bed when she opens her eyes. Beside her, Aaron is already sipping his own coffee, immersed in whatever he's reading. She stretches, and for the first time in awhile, doesn't feel the throbbing pains that have plagued her since Colorado. There's still a definite burn, but not nearly as pronounced as before.

Baby steps.

"Take those," Aaron says without even looking up from his book. "You'll be sore later if you don't."

With a roll of her eyes she obliges, knowing it's probably a good idea to do so. He's right. Most of the pain comes later in the day, annoying as it is. Without the pills now, she'll be struggling later on.

"Good morning." He leans over to kiss her, being careful not to jostle her too much. "Sleep well?"

"I think so." She takes a sip of the coffee, noting the traces of hazelnut and cream. It's her favorite kind; the one he's been keeping at his place since she started staying over a couple of months ago. It's good, exactly how she likes it done, and does an almost instantaneous job of waking her up. "What about you?"

Instead of answering, he completely ignores her question and instead goes right into something else. "What are your thoughts on Rossi's invitation?"

After Colorado, it was evident they were all in need of some time together without the normal stressors of work, and some extra time with JJ before the baby's arrival. Of course, Dave immediately offered to host. It's hard to say no, and she'd been excited about it, until Aaron had suggested they go together.

Things haven't changed much between them - he's just a little extra attentive. They're still spending a few nights a week in each other's apartments, the same casual intimacy that comes with the years of knowing each other as well as they do, both physically and emotionally. Yet, the discussion of being anything more than the status quo is yet to be had.

"I told you I wanted to go," she says cautiously, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. "I've told you more than once, actually"

"We both know that's not entirely what I meant."

Of course she knows what he really meant with his question. "I don't think we should show up together. We should still … keep this quiet," she says. "You know …"

He snaps his book shut, tossing it to the side. "How long are we going to go in circles like this, Emily?"

"I'm not ready for everyone to know yet." She brings her knees up, the sheet making a tent around her legs. "We've talked about this, Aaron. You know how I feel about things." There hasn't really been a good time to figure any of this out, either. After New York, now Colorado - it all seems too overwhelming to even begin to decipher what they could be.

"You do know that Dave already knows, right?"

She comes dangerously close to spilling the coffee mug all over the covers. "There's policies against this, you know. I would be reassigned immediately and you could be demoted. Then what would happen?"

Against his better judgment, he leans over to brush a piece of stray hair behind her ear, then another. "Relax. Dave is the reason half those policies exist. Plus, he's got his own issues to contend with."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She narrows her eyes, wondering just how much Aaron has told him. "And how does he already know?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure he has a thing with Strauss." Aaron can't help but smirk at the thought of Dave's little secret. Even a month after he'd seen Strauss leave his office much too late in the evening to be a work-related meeting, he has yet to comprehend just how or why that got started.

Emily's jaw drops on its own accord, her eyes widen in surprise. "Stop. That's … no way. Not Dave," she scoffs, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Seriously?"

"Pretty sure it's just rumors," he says smoothly, kissing her jaw. "But trust me. He's not telling a soul about us."

"I don't want to become a rumor, Aaron. Especially when it involves you."

"What are you so afraid of? That things might just actually work out if you give it a damn chance?"

"I'm not afraid," she snaps, angrily throwing back the blankets and ignoring the dull ache from her chest at the sudden movement. "But we both know better. We've had lots of experience failing at this."

"When are you going to let it go? Just what the hell do I have to do to prove this is different than eight years ago?" He meets her tone with his own anger, staring her down as she awkwardly scrambles for her clothes in a heap on the floor, making a dash for the bathroom. "Are you ever going to stop living in the past, Emily?"

It's like a cold slap in the face, one she wasn't at all expecting. "I think it's time for me to go," she says quietly, without even looking at him. He makes no effort to stop her this time, and less than five minutes later, she's gone, without another word spoken between them.

Later that night she all but ignores him at Rossi's, keeping her distance and hardly acknowledging his presence. He pretends like nothing is wrong.

It comes easier than he anticipated. After all, he's been doing it for years.

"Do you think you could find something to do in Las Vegas for the night?"

Based on Morgan's reaction to the question, he already knows the answer, and the flight back to Quantico is pushed to the next morning, a few hours later than usual just in case things get a little rowdy. The mood instantly changes as they go back to the hotel to freshen up before meeting for dinner. Even Emily is smiling; he hasn't seen that since they arrived in Vegas a few days ago.

It's a total accident they end up sitting next to each other at the restaurant. But he doesn't mind, because for some reason, whenever she laughs (which is frequently) throughout the course of dinner, her leg brushes up against his. At first, he chalked it up to an accident. But on the fourth time, he starts playing her game, resting his hand on her knee beneath the table. By the end of dessert, he's sliding his hand up her thigh. She doesn't even flinch, tossing her hair over her shoulder while continuing on animatedly with Rossi, sharing some story about their traveling in Italy years ago.

He knows it's going to happen before they even leave the restaurant. Less than fifteen minutes after arriving at the hotel, she knocks on on his door.

And of course, he lets her in, pressing her body into the wall once they're behind closed doors.

But she leaves almost immediately after, since the plan is to meet at 8 and head over to the casinos. Aaron's not the biggest fan of Vegas, if he's being honest. It's over stimulating and exhausting and he's never really seen the appeal of it all. But the team is ready to let loose for a few hours. Even a heavily pregnant JJ seems excited to hit the slot machines, and all he can do is agree when Dave suggests a bar instead of gambling. It's as if he's already sensed something is amiss, because there's a drink waiting for him when he finally arrives at the bar.

Aaron rattles off a quick excuse, something about a long phone call with Haley and Jack as he settles at the hightop table next to Dave. He wills himself to push everything out of his mind. They're in Vegas after all; he may as well try to enjoy the change of scenery.

"How are things going with Emily?" Dave asks almost an hour later, leaning in just a little closer over the music. They're on their second ridiculously overpriced drink and are working on a cigar. Dave just laughs and reaches into his wallet to open a tab when the waitress asks if they want another one. "We'll take two each."

Aaron rolls his eyes but willingly takes the drinks, trying to forget about the headache that's likely going to plague him tomorrow. "It's … going."

"Be a little more convincing, Aaron." Dave glances him up and down suspiciously. "Going. What does that even mean these days?"

"You tell me, Dave. You're the expert on relationships."

That gets a laugh from him. "Expert? Aaron, in case you haven't been keeping track, I'm three times divorced. That's twice more than you, if I'm doing the math correctly. I certainly wouldn't call myself an expert."

"Well, that makes two of us." The drink in front of him is strong, exactly what he needs.

Emily and Morgan stumble past the bar, clearly a few drinks deep, a raucous laughter erupting from them both. She looks beautiful and so carefree, clearly in her element. They don't even notice Aaron and Dave, as they head in the direction of Craps tables, and his eyes linger on her for a few moments as they disappear around a corner.

"Looks like they lost JJ," Aaron says dryly.

"More like JJ lost them." Dave eyes them both with an amused grin. "Can't say I blame her. I'd probably do the same."

"At least they're enjoying ourselves." Aaron finishes the last of his second drink and immediately reaches for his third. "

Dave feigns offense. "Hey, now, I'm not that bad, am I? My three ex wives didn't seem to think so." He shakes his head at Aaron's silence before prodding, "does this have anything to do with whatever was going on at my house the other week? Or why you spent the night practically moping around my house?"

"Something like that," he mutters. "And for the record, I wasn't moping, Dave."

"Oh, but you were. They could have written a country song about you, Aaron. Listen. I know we've talked about this, but maybe it's time the two of you have a real conversation about all of this. Instead of just dancing around the issue like you've been doing for too long."

"Are you this good at taking your own advice, Dave?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How long are you going to keep Erin Strauss a secret?" He quirks an eyebrow, a smile curling on his lips.

That takes Rossi by surprise shortly followed by a booming laugh as he lifts his glass in a cheers. "Touché, Aaron. Touché."

...

Much later that night, Emily shows up at his door, wobbling just a little on her heels with her bag slung over her shoulder, clearly exhausted as the effects of the alcohol start to set in. Aaron lets her through, handing her a bottle of water as she flops onto her back on his bed, her eyes already starting to close.

"I think I'm a little too old for Vegas. Plus, Atlantic City is closer, anyway." Emily manages to kick one shoe off, the other one dangling on her foot. "What do you think?" She slurs her words just enough to prove that while she isn't anywhere close to trashed, she's not fully sober, either. More like hovering in the limbo of honesty and discretion, a dangerous place to be sometimes. "Atlantic City next time, for sure."

"I think you need to drink some water," he says, taking the other shoe off and putting them off to the side of the room. "And go to bed."

"I had a feeling you'd say that." She rolls her eyes but twists the cap off the bottle, downing half of it in one less than graceful gulp and spilling some of it on herself in the process. "Why do you always … you're always there for me, Aaron." She's still flat on her back with the water bottle in her hand, but watching him through narrow eyes, sighing deeply. She sounds almost content.

"You know why, Emily." He's already digging through his bag for an extra set of clothes for her to sleep in, because her current attire looks anything but comfortable. "I've been telling you for months."

"I know. You love me." She says it lightly, her eyes closed, but the way she says it makes it sound like she actually believes him this time. Maybe she does.

"I always have. You know that."

"Even when I push you away? When I piss you off?"

"Yes, even when you push me away or piss me off." He sits next to her on the bed, rests his hand on her stomach as he leans down to kiss her. "I could never not love you, you know."

"Is that what Dave told you to say? While the two of you were bonding?" She giggles to herself as the alcohol haze lingers in her mind, remembering how ridiculous the two of them had looked with their cigars in the middle of the casino. "I saw you talking when I was with Morgan." As if she has a second wind, she sits up slowly, shaking the hair from her face.

"No, Emily. It's the truth." He's prepared for pushback, knowing how bold she can be with a little liquid courage in her veins. But that's not what happens as she sighs in frustration, not with him but with herself, and if he's not mistaken, there's the smallest tear forming in the corner of her eye, then another. "Hey," he says quietly, pulling her into his arms. "It's okay. We don't have to talk about this tonight."

She relaxes against him with a yawn. "What's wrong with me, Aaron? Why can't I just say it back?"

He doesn't say anything, just draws her closer, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "Nothing is wrong with you, Emily. I promise."

And as she fully sobers in the middle of a Vegas hotel room tucked against his side, it becomes something slightly more than what it was when she showed up at the door a few hours ago.

...

Only after they land in Atlanta about two months later does Emily realize they haven't been here since Superbowl weekend almost two years ago. She says a silent prayer that Reid hasn't made the connection, either. But he's completely engrossed in the case - they all are - and it's one less thing to worry about.

Going undercover is the last thing she expected when they arrived in Atlanta a few days prior, but she agrees to it, and suggests taking Jordan along with her. She's not stupid. Emily can tell there's tension between her and Aaron, and makes it her personal mission to give the girl every chance she deserves. After all, she knows how hard he is to please.

And of course, it's a success, but she knew it would be. Viper might be a narcissistic misogynist, but he's a man, and a slimy one at that. Play him right, he'll give exactly what they want. Even Aaron is impressed when Emily calls him on the way out, having gotten exactly what they needed.

There isn't enough time to change once they're back at the Atlanta Police Station, but one of the officers finds a few spare department-issued jackets laying around somewhere. Both Emily and Jordan smile gratefully, because even though it's warm outside, it's freezing inside. The jacket is actually longer than the dress but she still wears it, not even caring that half the Atlanta PD is gawking at both of them as they debrief.

At the hotel, she bids Jordan goodnight in the lobby as everyone goes their separate ways, eager to be done for the day. She closes her eyes when she sees Aaron slip into the elevator at the last second, just a little too close to be professional.

"Leave the dress on, and don't even think about taking off those shoes." His voice is low; only she can hear as he brushes past her when the doors open on their floor. He doesn't have to explain - she knows he's been undoubtedly staring at her all night. So she nods, gives him a head start towards his room, and once she's in hers, she waits.

Like clockwork, he shows up at exactly 12:30 AM. She's been expecting him, but it still sends a shiver of anticipation down her back when she hears the three firm knocks against the door. He's still wearing his suit and tie. "I'm going to take you apart," is what he says when she opens it, and she bites her lip in anticipation, because he looks so damn serious. "Until you scream." His jaw flexes, his eyes darken, and what happens next surprises both of them.

"Me first." Emily grabs his tie with one hand, yanking him into the room and the door closes behind him. She uses almost all of her weight to push him up against the wall, dropping to her knees and going for his belt buckle and zipper.

"Fuck," Aaron's hands are in her hair instantly, dragging running through what's left of the wavy curls, more forcefully than he intended but she doesn't even seem to notice as she brings him into her mouth. Instead, she moans, sending vibrations through him that make his knees weak, his hands tightening around the back of her head when he hits the back of her throat.

This isn't at all what he had in mind when he'd left his hotel room a short time ago, but he's certainly not complaining.

Emily works him over quickly, using her mouth and hand in tandem in the way she knows will do the trick. When his knees start to bend, she relaxes her throat only to take him all the way in again, clearly not about to stop anytime soon. She's clearly enjoying herself, based on how fervently she continues.

"Em," he grunts, tapping her shoulder in warning. "I'm not going to -." He pushes on her shoulders, scrambling for purchase to get the upper hand. He'd much rather take her to bed, anyway, and if she doesn't stop, it'll all be over too soon.

Emily smiles up at him and flutters her eyelashes, then brings him out of her mouth gracefully. Her lips are red and swollen, and he swats her hands away and gets a grip under her arms, lifting her to her feet, with a quick kiss to her nose. "Bed, now."

They stumble the few steps from the door over to the bed, and Aaron pushes her onto the mattress, on her back, taking a few moments to just stare at her in the dress and heels, the heavy makeup barely even smudged except for the lipstick.

"What are you waiting for?" Emily stretches her arms over her head, lifts her hips teasingly. "Are you just all talk tonight, Aaron? I haven't forgotten what you said, you know."

"And what was that?" He loosens the tie around his neck, and makes a show of stuffing it in his pocket. Maybe he'll use it on her later, he thinks, lowering down and spreading out over her, settling between her legs.

"You said you were going to take me apart," she whispers in his ear, bringing her leg up around his waist, the sharp stiletto heel digging in his back a perfect reminder of his earlier promise. "Did you mean that?"

"Patience, sweetheart." He winks, leaning down to kiss her as his hand moves up her thigh, and her eyes flutter closed when his fingers inch even further. "I'm just getting started."

...

"I want to take you out to dinner," Aaron says over an hour later, after he's loosened the tie from the headboard, freed her hands, and they're resting together, both heads sharing a pillow, legs twisted beneath the sheets. The TV is on; neither of them are paying much attention. Instead, he's tracing lazy patterns on her arm, dropping a few wayward kisses here and there on her wrists, which are already red and sore.

"What about room service? According to Jordan, this hotel has great room service." Emily chirps, leaning over him to pluck the menu from his nightstand.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He frowns. "I meant at a restaurant. With actual food. Not something that comes out of a takeout box."

"We had dinner the other night when we got to Atlanta," Emily muses, and while she's not saying no, she isn't exactly agreeing to the offer, either.

"Team dinners don't count, Emily." He feels her tense beside him now that she's put on the spot, and he pulls the menu from her hands, tossing it off the bed and wrapping an arm around her. "Just one," he says patiently. "If it's that terrible, you never have to do it again."

It's meant to be a joke, and she takes it as one, giving him a playful slap on the arm before quietly adding, "I'll have dinner with you, Aaron. All you had to do was ask."

One dinner turns into three, and three quickly becomes five. In fact, there's dinners after Atlanta, before and after, Phoenix and two before Modesto. Those end as they both expect - in her bed or his. It's where they find themselves the next morning, and sometimes the early afternoon, too. Those are the days he likes best.

It's as if they're doing all of this backwards; the first logical step is one of their last as they slowly figure out just what they're doing here. Then again, their relationship has always been somewhat unconventional at best, even from the start. He reminds himself it's just dinner - the simple act of sharing a meal together, but it's also so much more than that. It's a level of normalcy they haven't had in years, or maybe ever at all. It's the closest thing to something real instead of whatever it is they're doing behind closed doors in cities all over the country. And each time he picks her up for Italian or Thai or some overindulgent Tapas plates, always with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, he watches the blush rise in her cheeks and her smile widens a little each time she opens the door.

Sarasota gets to her, just like he knew it would. She'd been the one to accompany William Harris' daughter to the hospital after he was arrested. Even after they're home from Florida he can tell she's still thinking about it. So he orders a copious amount of Mexican takeout and shows up at her door with the bag under his arm and an apologetic smile on his face.

"You really didn't have to do this," she argues as he steps right past her, moving easily through her kitchen, knowing right where to find the plates. "I told you I was going to watch a movie and go to bed."

"I know," he says smoothly, setting the bag down and assembling them each a full plate. "But maybe I just wanted to watch a movie with you."

The small, yet grateful, smile on her face tells him he made the right choice.

And after Alabama, another case that gets to her just a little more than usual, he reminds her of her worth. She's the reason they even get a break in the all too puzzling case - an intricate web of families and traditions, albeit grisly ones. When they face off in an impressive yet effortless showdown of good cop, bad cop, Dave just rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself when he emerges from the interrogation room. "You know," he says discreetly, "you're not going to be able to hide it much longer."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dave," Aaron says calmly as he shuts the door, about to tell the Madison police department to draw up the murder charges.

But it's the farthest thing from the truth. He knows it, too.

"You did good today," he says later that night in a hotel room in Alabama. His or hers, it doesn't matter - that line blurred a long time ago. She accepts the compliment with a satisfied sigh, and for once, doesn't brush him off. And after they've thoroughly exhausted themselves, he's reminded of just how intelligent she really is, and he tells her that even though she blushes an endearing shade of pink. He's always known, but sometimes it smacks him right in the face as she explains Romanian terms of endearment and their origins with an overwhelming amount of patience.

In the series of subtle shifts they keep making, small steps in the right direction, these are no different, but perhaps the most meaningful of all.

Dallas gives a new perspective. It's a world he's unfamiliar with, but for her, it brings back a slew of memories she'd rather not relive. The lying, the deception, and not to mention the list of political animals that represent the world she left behind and never once looked back. It's a reminder of men she's long lost track of but never truly forgotten, and their carefully curated existence that could unravel at any second. The fact that some of these people went their entire lives with secrets, some of them taken to the grave, haunts her. Just more secrets buried in years of lies.

Dinner consists of the box of chocolate covered pretzels in her sit on the sofa in her hotel room in downtown Dallas, wrapped in the robes that hung on the back of the bathroom door. A definite perk, she'd thought with a wry grin when she'd discovered them.

Their feet are propped up on the coffee table and there's a bottle of extra dry red wine shared between them. She rests her head on his shoulder, ignoring the subtle pull in her chest when she thinks of her own secrets. The ones they saw today pale in comparison to the ones she keeps in the hidden parts of her heart, tucked in a box where they'll stay forever.

"You never know what goes on behind closed doors." Aaron is quiet tonight. He's thinking about Megan, and the ultimate price she paid for her own father's years of indiscretions. "You know what she told me? Right before she died?"

She pops one of the pretzels in her mouth, her head tilted toward the side in curiosity.

"I was the first man who never let her down." The words hang heavy in his mind, because while he may have been that person for Megan, he certainly can't say the same thing about Emily.

She says nothing, only nods thoughtfully, her own mind full of things she'd rather not remember. "Think of all the secrets these people had. All the lies they told."

"And how far they were willing to go to keep them."

Emily is quiet for a few minutes, toying with the cuffs of her sleeves. "I don't want to keep this a secret anymore, Aaron."

He blinks, as if he didn't hear her correctly, searching her face curiously. "Are you saying we should tell the team? About this? Us?"

"I think … if they were to find out somehow ... I wouldn't deny it." She brings her hand up his chest, feeling the beat of his heart underneath her palm. "Maybe it's about time we told the truth."

...

Something about the Reaper makes Emily uneasy.

It's a feeling she's never had before on a case, and she's off her game this time around. Maybe it's Aaron's quiet intensity throughout their time in Boston - clearly his personal demons surrounding this case run deep. There's a history here she's not even aware of, which makes her feel like she should give him space for a reason she can't quite explain. The guilt he carries is evident after the murders on the bus and he all but retreats into himself, angry for not figuring all of this out sooner. Emily is grateful for Rossi, who has all the right words she can't seem to find, even after the plane leaves Boston behind.

It's JJ who is running towards them, a grim expression on her face when she gives the news of the prison escape, along with all the sickening details. It leaves a chill down her spine, because she knows it's not the last time they'll hear the name George Foyet.

"I want you to meet Jack," Aaron says the night they get back from Cherry Hill. He's driving them back to her apartment, where he'll undoubtedly spend the night. She's still taking the case hard, haunted by the image of the dead little boy's parents standing in front of their older son. The son who murdered his brother, who was taken away kicking and screaming. And less than forty eight hours after their arrival, another family is torn apart by the time they depart.

"What?" Her head snaps to the side, eyes meeting his questioningly. This is unexpected, and quite frankly, not the best timing, given what they've just seen.

"Jack. I want you to meet him."

It's the way he says it, with such certainty, that it stops her midthought. "Really?"

"Don't sound so excited." Aaron glances over at her, then flicks his eyes toward the road again while palming the wheel with his free hand. "But I thought you might want to come over … for dinner one night this week? When I have him?"

"How do you plan on explaining that to Haley? Pretty sure she'll have a few issues with that." Emily rests her head on her hand. "Does she even know about … us?"

"That's my problem, not yours." He takes her hand over the center console - her fingers are cold as ice. "And yes. She does." He'd told her a few weeks ago, officially. She hadn't said much, just a slight scoff and a roll of her eyes, clearly not surprised by the news.

Emily stares at her knees, trying to gather her thoughts. She has many, even if she's not sure just how to put them into words. She's been with him in some regard for almost a year, been at the BAU for more than two, and still has never met Jack. She's often wondered about him, piecing together bits and pieces from pictures, but it's always been a boundary she was unwilling to cross. "You think it's a good idea?"

"I've been thinking about it for awhile," he admits, taking the exit to her apartment. "And yes. Does Wednesday sound good? Dinner at my place? You might have to settle for dinosaur chicken nuggets, just a warning." He looks hopeful, and it makes her heart skip a beat.

"Wednesday sounds great," she says with a smile that reaches her eyes, one of her first in days. "And dinosaur chicken nuggets sound great."

...

Canada is something they'll spend a very long time trying to forget.

It'd been hell from the beginning, and he'd only seen her for short moments at a time in the last 48 hours since arriving at Mason and Lucas Turner's farm. It's an almost intentional distance they keep, for they both know if given the chance to be vulnerable, even for a few moments, it might very well break both of them.

None of them sleep, let alone eat, and it's bad enough that when it's time to go, they hardly speak at all in the cars on the way to the airstrip. It's painfully obvious in all of their eyes on the flight back as they try to process just what they've seen, and where they go from here. Aaron is working on giving them a few days off, but Strauss isn't answering her damn phone, and by the time the plane lands, no one even has the energy to make pleasantries.

"I need to ...I just need to go home," he tells her when the rest of them are halfway across the parking lot. His eyes are dark, distracted, and disturbed. "I need to be alone."

"It's okay." Emily touches his arm, keeps her distance. "You don't have to explain." There's a bad feeling she has deep down, one she can't explain. Somewhere in her exhausted mind, there's a tiny voice telling her she should just make him come to her place. But she doesn't, because his despondency is chilling. Of all the years she's known him, he's never looked quite as broken as this. "Call me in the morning."

Had he not been so completely drained and gutted going into his apartment, he would have known something was just slightly amiss. But as he drinks the whiskey with a grip on the glass that's just a little too tight, the rasping voice behind him is all too familiar. Foyet.

"You should have made a deal."

Aaron fights him with all of his strength but even that isn't enough as he's taken to the ground. He can't help but wonder if this is how Emily will find him in the morning when he doesn't call her like he promised he would. With each stab of the knife, cutting through muscle and tissue with an agonizing precision that Foyet seems to take more and more delight in, he can feel the blood seep into the carpet beneath his crumpled body. The pain is all too much by now, his eyes starting to close because even breathing is starting to become a momentous effort.

And before he loses consciousness, the only thing he can see in the jumbled, hazy cloud of delirium in his mind is her face, the first time he laid eyes on her in the Ambassador's house almost a lifetime ago.

This can't be the end.