Author's Note, 2021: Another repost. Again, shocked how many of these I had taken down.

Original Note: This is a whole other genre I really haven't done on a broad scale, drama/suspense (sans horror). It takes place late season 4, post Demonology, post Omnivore, pre Hell & Back. Emily has a stalker. You know I prefer to go a bit more unconventional but, what can I say? The story came to me through the prompt and the story wanted to be told.

Come at this basically from canon, but also picture what was happening with them off screen to get them as close as they'd clearly become onscreen. So H/P's relationship is undefined at this point. They're just clearly bonded with a subtext of something more brewing.

Prompt Set #4

Show: Las Vegas

Title Challenge: One Nation Under Surveillance

Forced Entry

Hotch pulled into the parking spot next to his apartment building and turned off the ignition. As he listened to the car tick while it cooled down, he let out a sigh of relief.

Christ it was good to be home.

After four days on the road tracking down a child molester out in Tucson, he was exhausted and stressed out. All he wanted to do was go inside and have a beer.

Okay, maybe three beers.

One way or another there would be alcohol and there would be something mindless on the television. For once he wasn't going to think about work or death or mayhem.

He was just going to relax.

As he reached over to grab his cell phone off the passenger seat, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

What the . . .? How the hell did that happen?

He had seven missed calls from Emily. Seven missed calls all in the last ten minutes.

A ball of tension immediately began to form in his stomach. And as he opened the phone to call her back, he saw the little symbol was on for vibrate.

That's good Aaron . . . he rolled his eyes in disgust . . . very responsible.

Then he shook his sleep addled brain to focus again on the facts at hand. The team had landed forty-five minutes ago, he'd left Emily in the Academy parking lot twenty-five minutes ago, and he'd now had seven missed calls from her in the last ten minutes.

Oh God . . . the little the ball of tension began to grow larger . . . what if she was in an accident?!

Now feeling the delayed panic rising up . . . seven calls was bad no matter WHAT had happened(!) . . . he hit call back on the phone.

She picked up halfway through the first ring.

"I need you here NOW!" She cried out in a harsh whisper. "Somebody's been in my apartment!"

Hearing the terror in her voice, Hotch's heart took a jolt as he put the phone to his ear and turned around to peel out again.

"On my way! Stay on the line," he tore back out into street traffic, "did you call the police yet?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded even though Hotch couldn't see her, "when I couldn't reach you, I called them. They should be here any minute."

As she chewed her lip and anxiously tapped her gun against her thigh, Emily prowled up and down her outside hallway. At this point she was just waiting for either Hotch or the police to arrive.

Either would do.

Pushing down the stab of guilt at what he knew was an unintentional reproach . . . he had only been out of touch for ten minutes . . . Hotch directed his attention back to what was important.

Her safety.

"I don't want you in your apartment," he said firmly as he gunned it through a yellow light turning red, "stay out in the hall until either the officers or I get there, do you understand?"

Ordinarily he wouldn't feel the need to clarify orders with her, but when it came to her safety he wasn't taking any chances.

Emily took another step further away from her apartment door as she nodded again.

"Understood. I'm in the hall now. I only checked the downstairs, and then I realized I was way too freaked out to do a proper search alone so I tried to call you. And then I called 911 before I started trying you again. I haven't gone back inside though."

It was SO not the same doing a search of your own home as it was doing a search of someone else's. She couldn't turn off her horror at the realization that someone had been in there.

Someone had VIOLATED her space!

It was impossible to concentrate on procedures. And on the off chance that somebody was still upstairs, he could very easily have gotten the jump on her.

She had known the only smart thing to do was to get out and get back up.

Hotch let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, good. Stay there," he tapped the brakes and fishtailed into her front lot, "I'm pulling up now."

After the divorce he'd ended up getting an apartment that was barely a two minute drive from Emily's. It wasn't so much a coincidence, as Emily was the one that had mentioned seeing the sign for vacancies in what was now his apartment building.

The short distance was definitely a lucky break tonight!

And after he'd pulled up into the fire lane front of her building . . . he wasn't bothering with 'parking spots' right now . . . he yanked the emergency brake and pulled the keys from the ignition. Then he dropped down his visor with the FBI placard just before he cracked the door back, and jumped out of his car.

The echo of the door slamming shut was still reverberating as he went pounding up her front steps.

His weapon was at his side, and the sound of the approaching sirens could be heard in the distance. And after flashing his badge at the startled doorman, he slammed through the fire door on the other side of the elevators.

He went racing up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

The more he thought about someone in her home . . . about someone possibly STILL being in her home . . . the more panicked he was getting! He was running solely on adrenaline.

Because Foyet was flashing like a neon sign in his brain.

Really though, they dealt with so many sick and twisted people, he knew that limiting his imagination to just Foyet, was much too short sighed. It could be anyone. If even ONE of those monsters had found out where Emily lived . . . he winced . . . Jesus Christ.

Simply the thought of it made his stomach flip.

And as he circled the fourth floor landing, he promptly slammed the door on those thoughts. They would do him no good at the moment. Nothing was going to do him any good but seeing that she was safe.

And then suddenly picturing Foyet's face again . . . instinct or over imagination, there was simply no shaking him off . . . Hotch felt a fresh shot of adrenaline hit his system. He pounded onto the fifth floor spiral sprinting like the devil was at his back.

'Three more to go!'

/*/*/*/*/*

'WHAT THE FUCK?'

Emily swore to herself as she whipped around, her weapon rising up as the fire door suddenly crashed open behind her.

But then she saw Hotch come flying through . . . she immediately dropped her gun down again.

Thank Christ!

"Are you okay!?" he choked out in a clear panic as he ran up and grabbed her arm.

Emily finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Yeah," she nodded, "much better though now that you're here." The she clutched his arm, "but Hotch we have to go back inside now! Daisy's in there!"

For a second Hotch stared at her in confusion . . . his mind had gone blank, "Daisy?" But then suddenly the missing information came roaring back into his brain.

Her cat.

Daisy was her cat. A fact confirmed by Emily a split second later, "you know, Daisy. My cat." Her voice started to get husky, "I feel so bad I didn't even think of her until after I'd talked to you. If I'd remembered before I wouldn't have left her in there."

God, she really hoped that if she ever had children, that she'd be a better mother than a pet owner. Because she was feeling pretty fucking horrible for forgetting the one little life she was responsible for preserving right now!

Feeling his expression soften at the pain in Emily's voice, Hotch immediately nodded.

"Okay, we can go get her but," he gave her a firm look, "I want you behind me the whole time."

It was obvious that she was still too rattled to take point on anything. Though he still trusted her implicitly to watch his back, right now he just didn't trust her to watch her own.

Emily's head jerked once as her eyes shot back over to her closed door.

"Understood."

The word was a whisper, but it was enough for Hotch. So they turned and, with him a step ahead, moved quickly down the hall to her apartment.

Given how Emily had been standing guard in the hall, if there was anyone still inside, they certainly hadn't gotten out. Not with her living on the eighth floor, with no fire escapes or balconies from her windows.

It was just a long peaceful drop to the concrete below.

So after giving Emily one more quick appraisal . . . though she certainly wasn't her usual collected self, she was still clearly capable of working . . . Hotch did the silent count at the door.

Rather than crashing into her unlocked apartment, they did a quiet entry as he cautiously turned the knob before he gave the red metal door a light push.

It slowly swung open.

Fortunately Emily had turned on the lights when she came home, so the downstairs was fully illuminated.

Even though Hotch's anxiety level was already through the roof . . . he STILL couldn't get Foyet out of his head . . . it somehow shot up another notch as he took his first steps into the hallway. Because a quick scope of the room immediately revealed to him what had alerted her to the intruder. And he could also see why she was still so rattled almost fifteen minutes later.

He was pretty fucking rattled himself.

Because in bright red letters written across her far wall, were the words.

WHERE ARE YOU EMILY?!

It wasn't so much writing, as geometric slashes of paint.

You could see the rage behind the words.

Feeling his breath quicken, Hotch turned slightly to check on the woman behind him.

He knew it was stupid, but he just wanted to make sure that she was still there.

Of course she was. But at the look of fear on her face, he had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking her hand. It wasn't exactly the most professional urge, but this was clearly not a strictly professional moment. This was her home. They had guns drawn in her home.

And that was just wrong.

So he'd be okay with physical comforting her, but clearly NOW was not the time. Not while they were still checking her apartment to make sure that there weren't any serial killers in her closets. In a few minutes though, he could hold her hand and lie and tell her everything was okay.

He turned his attention back to the sweep.

And even though Emily had indicated that she'd already checked them once, they again cleared the laundry room, the front hall closet, and the small half bath.

Unfortunately none of those locations held any sign of Emily's cat, so they had to keep looking.

They crossed the living room and Hotch covered Emily as she checked under the couch and then the end chairs.

Still nothing.

As she looked back at him he could see her eyes were beginning to get moist, and Hotch knew that they needed to speed this up before she started to lose it.

He tipped his head and they started over to the staircase.

As he was passing the writing on the wall, Hotch suddenly got a whiff of copper . . . he froze. Immediately his eyes snapped over to Emily's.

And seeing the splash of horror on her face, he knew that she hadn't come this close to the lettering before.

Feeling the tears start to pool, Emily mouthed, 'Daisy?' to Hotch.

Oh God! Please don't let that be kitty's blood!

For a moment, Hotch stood there with one foot on the riser, paralyzed with indecision.

It was a rarity for him. But it was obvious how attached Emily was to her cat, and Hotch really didn't want to walk her into some horrible desecration of its corpse. Even if it wasn't a person, it was clear that she loved it. And . . . he swallowed . . . she shouldn't have to see something that she loved in that condition.

Okay, that sealed it for him.

Just as he turned and started to reach out for Emily's arm . . . he'd heard the sirens, the police would be here any minute to finish the search . . . she suddenly bolted passed him to run up the stairs.

She didn't get more than one step above him before he'd caught her arm in a vice grip and yanked her back. Then his wild eyes snapped up to the open area above them, watching for any movement.

Still quiet.

When Emily yanked on her arm, trying to get free, Hotch's gaze snapped back to hers and he shot her a nasty glare.

"Stay BEHIND me!" was the harsh whisper that followed.

Jesus CHRIST! Thank God she hadn't gotten this far into the room before he'd arrived! If she'd realized that was blood earlier she could have gotten herself killed running blindly up the stairs!

Emily stared hard at him for a moment before she jerked her chin defiantly up the staircase.

'Well, if we're going let's go,' was what Hotch could clearly see was the sentiment there.

His own jaw now twitching with anger and agitation, Hotch looked up to the landing again before he gave Emily another cold appraisal.

He wasn't above throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back out the door if he thought that she was going off half cocked.

But . . . though her eyes were still wet . . . she appeared to be in control of what she was doing.

Now she just seemed pissed.

Pissed was good. Pissed kept them alive.

Provided she did as she was told.

But she'd stopped trying to get her arm free, so he'd clearly made his point there. So he nodded, and then pulled her back down behind him before he started up the stairs again.

As they continued their upward ascent, out of the corner of his eye Hotch saw the flashing blue and red lights bouncing off the windows across the street.

The police were here.

But Emily was clearly going out of her mind with worry, and they'd already come this far, so he decided to continue upwards. Though he hadn't been upstairs before that night, Hotch knew that her apartment couldn't be that large. Therefore most likely they'd be done with the sweep before the police even came through the front door.

That was when he stepped up onto the landing and froze again, now listening intently.

The hallway was empty . . . everything seemed quiet.

Nothing was obviously wrong up here either. At least not in this area. So they quickly checked the main bathroom, then the guest room and finally the hall closet.

Everything there was clear too. The only door left was the one at the far end of the hall.

Emily's bedroom.

That door was shut.

After he'd shot Emily a questioning look, and she'd shook her head violently in response, he had his answer as to whether or not it should have been.

No.

Apparently . . . his heart started racing again . . . she'd left this door open.

So they did another silent count and Hotch took a breath before he kicked in the door.

Nobody.

But it was abundantly clear that someone had been in there.

And with Emily frozen in shock by the door, Hotch alone quickly checked the closet, the bathroom, and under the bed. As expected, it was all clear, so he came back over to her still standing there with her eyes watering and her jaw agape.

His voice was gentle as he tried to coax her out.

"Come on," he tipped his head, "let's go out and wait for the police."

Not only had her bedroom been completely trashed, but there was more red writing on the far wall.

DAISY MISSES YOU

From the metallic reek, Hotch knew that this one was also written in blood. But he took heart from the present tense conjugation. It implied that he hadn't killed her cat yet.

Or at least he hadn't killed it in her home.

Emily stared at the words on the wall and then her watery eyes tracked over the clothes thrown everywhere. Suddenly recognition dawned and her astonished gaze snapped over to Hotch's worried one.

"I KNOW WHO DID THIS!" She gasped.

Just then they heard the police entering her apartment.

"POLICE! AGENT PRENTISS! ARE YOU IN HERE?!"

That was followed immediately by a slightly more subdued, "Jesus Christ Charlie, look at the writing!"

Hearing those words, Emily winced, and all the shock and anger seemed to go out of her.

She just looked broken.

That's when Hotch finally dropped any pretext that this was a professional endeavor . . . it wasn't. So he reached over to take her free hand. When she looked up at him with her watery eyes, he squeezed her fingers tightly between his. But there was no time for conversation now, so with a quick look of apology, he gave her arm a tug, and hurriedly led her back into the upstairs hall.

"FBI!" He called back loudly, "WE'RE UP HERE!"

Even though Emily's dramatic announcement CLEARLY required more in depth discussion, the first priority at the moment was not getting shot by the local LEOs. So to that end, Hotch shoved his Glock into his holster and yanked out his badge, holding it up clearly for the officers hurrying up the stairs with their weapons still drawn.

"Agent Hotchner," he continued on with the introductions, while tipping his head down towards Emily, "Agent Prentiss. This is her home. We finished the upstairs search. He's gone," he shot the older officer a look, "as is her cat."

Both officers' eyes widened as they looked over their shoulders and down the stairs at the bloody writing on the wall. When they looked back at Hotch, he jerked his head towards the bedroom as he started Emily towards the staircase.

"In there too. Call your crime scene techs. If they're backed up let me know, and I'll call mine. We'll be out in the hall."

Ordinarily Hotch would be running the scene, but right now he just wanted Emily out of the apartment. Really, there was nothing more to be done in there until they'd processed the evidence anyway. And based on Emily's reaction upstairs, he'd already come to a preliminary conclusion as to what was going on. This wasn't Foyet. This wasn't anyone in their files. No, it was much more personal than that.

His jaw twitched.

Emily had a stalker.

A/N 2: If you've read my stuff regularly you know I'm not a fan of 'damsely' Emily. I like Big Damn Hero Hotch, but not at the expense of the strength of Emily's character. So to be clear, this is not a Damsely Emily story. Granted, she's thus far not having a good evening, but she's not going to spend the whole story barefoot in the kitchen while Hotch goes out and saves the day.

Tone wise, this will be heavier than some of the other relationship worlds, but beyond that I'm not really going to disclose much. Though I will say, don't throw any stones at me yet over the status of Daisy! Remember, still present tense!

And yes, I did call her cat Daisy in another story but I just thought the name fit for an Emily cat so I used it again.