Author's Note (2021): It took FOREVER to clean up this chapter even though it was already finalized to start. But some of these reposts, I can see that clear, bright line, on my earliest stories where my writing used to be kind of flat because I didn't have all the years of experience yet. I cringed a lot here, so I did a lot of smoothing out before I put it back up. If I was trying to get paid for this, I'd probably do a third version, but this is free, so here you go :)
This picks up immediately from the end of Chapter 1. Beyond that, just go with the chapter title.
Not What It Seems
With essentially Emily's entire apartment the crime scene, Hotch quickly guided her down the stairs, through the living room, and directly back out into the main hall.
For a moment they just stood there. All he'd wanted was to get her out, but he hadn't considered yet where they were going to go from there.
When he looked down, he could see that Emily's eyes were glued to some invisible spot on the carpet as she ground her teeth. Through her open door, he could hear the chatter off the police radios.
The ETA on the crime scene unit was twelve minutes.
Even though Hotch knew that the police were within shouting distance, with the revelation that he'd just had, he was suddenly very conscious of the amount of distance between him and the woman at his side. There was also the constant reminder in his head, of how quickly somebody can be attacked when they have a psychopath stalking them.
And Emily's psychopath could be anywhere.
As his eyes worriedly scanned the closed doors of the other apartments, he wondered if anyone behind those peepholes was watching them. Feeling his nerves take another jolt at how exposed they really were, Hotch pulled slightly on Emily's hand to move her a little closer to his body. Then he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you have a common room up here?"
His tone was soft, but he didn't like having this many access points around them when he didn't have the first clue about what was happening. All he knew for sure was that someone had broken into Emily's apartment, stolen her cat, and written two notes in blood.
Fresh blood.
It was still red and it still smelled strongly of copper.
Emily blinked away the tears trying to pool as she focused in on Hotch's question.
"What? Oh, um," she tipped her head as she began leading him to the other end of the hall, "we can go to the laundry room. I have my own but there's a central one on each floor."
As she started down the hall, Emily felt a slight resistance on her hand and she turned to look up at the man holding it.
They stared at each other for a moment before Emily's eyes began to water. Because this was not happening to her. These things happened to other people. She knocked on their doors and they told her their stories.
She had never been the story teller before . . . she swallowed the lump forming in her throat . . . she didn't like it.
She didn't like it one bit.
Seeing that Emily was beginning to get physically upset, Hotch's expression softened. Ordinarily at this moment, the moment where the quote unquote 'victim,' began to get emotional, he called in Emily.
Emily took care of these things for him.
But . . . he released his grasp on her fingers, moving his hand up to the back of her neck instead . . . that clearly was not an option today. So he pulled her against his side, lightly rubbing the tips of his fingers into the tight muscles.
This situation was seriously testing his routine physical boundaries with her. But he knew that was something he was just going to have to get over.
She needed someone, and it was time for him to step up.
Actually . . . he bit his lip as he thought back . . . given how he'd let her down earlier this year, it was past time for him to step up.
It took Emily only a second to shift over into Hotch's space. It wasn't something they'd generally do, be so demonstrative. But it was definitely something . . . she wiped away a tear that leaked down her cheek . . . that she needed then. So now together, they continued the ten feet down the hall to the laundry room where Hotch hit the lights with the tip of his Glock.
Definitely empty.
Once they were inside, Hotch shut the door behind him . . . the police would call out when they needed them . . . and as he reholstered his weapon, he walked Emily over to the little couch facing the wash machines.
They sat down with a few inches of space between them.
He decided to give her a moment to pull herself together before he started talking. As he heard her sniffling at his side, he stared at the scars in the wood of the battered little coffee table in front of them.
After a moment he said softly, "tell me who did this and I'll take care of it."
They both knew what 'take care of it' meant. And at his offer, another wave of sadness passed through Emily. She winced.
It had come to this.
They had seen so much violence, so many women killed by the system that wasn't equipped to deal with these situations, now that she had become one of their case files, Hotch's default position was to handle things personally before any more physical harm could be done.
Eliminate the threat before the threat eliminates you.
It was as simple as that.
And though it saddened her that this was their life, it was still a very sweet offer. Though of course she knew that other people might find such a declaration a little alarming, they weren't like other people.
Which is how they had become friends.
It was very gradual, but outside of JJ . . . who was now busy with her new family . . . more anyone else on the team, Emily now felt closest to the man at her side. There was still so much they didn't say though.
Of course Hotch was a man who could say a lot without saying anything at all.
And as Emily focused in on the sense of safety that he brought her, and then his many kindnesses to her over the past three years, she bit her lip and looked up at him with moist eyes. She cleared her throat.
"I have a stalker."
And then she cringed, waiting for the angry outburst.
But it didn't come.
Instead his brow darkened as he nodded. "I figured out that much. What's his name? What's he done before this?"
If he'd laid a hand on her he was dead. Hell, if this went the way it was shaping up to go, he was probably dead anyway. But if he'd actually touched her, dead would not be a euphemism for anything but deceased.
After she took a breath, Emily sniffed and scrubbed her hands down her face. Then she started her story.
A story that she knew she should have told Hotch weeks ago.
"His name is Edward Lipsky."
Emily started softly and then she realized that she sounded timid, so she cleared her throat and continued on more confidently.
"He lives in Ballston. And it started with hang ups, then middle of the night phone calls with heavy breathing. At first I didn't think too much of it. I mean," she shook her head dismissively, "at the time I didn't have any clue it was him. I thought it was just some kid maybe that had focused in on my number. It was only a minor thing, not enough of an issue yet to even warrant putting a trap on my phone," she bit her lip, "but then the calls started to become more persistent, a muffled voice asking what was I wearing, that sort of thing. So I did have the number traced and it was Lipsky," she swallowed as her gaze shifted over to Hotch's, "a guy who I'd had dinner with last month."
For a second she paused to see if he was going to stop her, but as he tipped his head for her to continue, she went on to the next part of her story.
"I was," she shook her head as she thought back, "beyond shocked. It was a blind date and we'd barely spent two hours of our lives together. When I left him at the restaurant, there had been no pretext that we'd be seeing each other again. I just thanked him for dinner, shook his hand, and that was it. Honestly I hadn't thought about him again since that day, and all of a sudden I find out this random guy has been making these weird phone calls. So anyway," she tried to get back on point, "after I find out that he's my midnight caller, I call him. Remind him that I'm an FBI agent, which he'd known at dinner, and I tell him that if he calls me again I'm swearing out a complaint for harassment."
Seeing the look Hotch was giving her, Emily shrugged a bit sheepishly.
"I know, I shouldn't have contacted him myself but really Hotch, it was just . . . it was nothing. Mostly just the heavy breathing. I wasn't going to ask for help handling a pathetic prick like that."
Hotch bit his lip.
He understood her point, in her position he would have done the same thing. Still, it would have been better if she hadn't rewarded him with contact. But . . . his jaw twitched as he considered the blood in her apartment . . . that was now a moot point. If Lipsky had escalated this quickly, it probably wouldn't have changed the outcome tonight anyway. So he asked softly, "when it did become more than nothing?"
"Uh," her fingers began to nervously run through her hair as she started to get more agitated, "two Mondays ago. That's when somebody started following me to work. I couldn't see the car exactly, but you know sometimes you just know. And I knew that somebody was tailing me. But it was always gone, the feeling I mean, before I got to the Academy. So it wasn't like telling the guards would have done much. But I was starting to get a little, um . . . spooked."
She trailed off for a moment, because back then she still hadn't believed that it was happening. That was really why she hadn't mentioned it to the guards. If she'd said something, at least they would have started watching for suspicious behavior. But at that point she wasn't able to accept that she was actually becoming a person in a case file.
Somebody with a narrative next to her name.
Hotch's fingers suddenly brushed over her arm . . . she jumped.
"Are you all right?" He murmured, and she looked up at him with a sheepish smile.
"Yeah, sorry, I drifted off for a second," she took a breath, "but anyway, I didn't really have anything specific to go on. The phone calls had stopped after I'd threatened him, so I wasn't even really thinking of Lipsky. I mean maybe in the back of my head I was, but you know we deal with so many disturbed people, that I started thinking that maybe something from work had started following me home. But then on that Thursday I finally spotted the car. And I ran the plates and sure enough, it was LIPSKY, again. And again, I couldn't believe it. It had been a week since I'd warned him off, and here he was now following me. But I still didn't have enough to swear out a complaint. He hadn't approached me or called again, he just happened to be driving down the same street I was. You know, legally that was nothing. But then on the next weekend, I was sure that I saw his car parked in front of my building. I only saw it from the window though, and I'm so high up I couldn't swear an affidavit, but I asked the building manager for the security tapes out front. At the angle of the camera I could only see the first four numbers of the plate, but I ran them, and the partial matched his sedan."
She bit her lip just before her voice faded.
"He showed up on the tapes on three different days."
Hotch's jaw started to twitch . . . this was CLASSIC escalation! And Emily knew that too. She KNEW that things were just getting worse! And that was two WEEKS ago!
A burst of rage came flying up out of nowhere.
'SO WHY THE FUCK WAS THIS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS HEARING ABOUT THIS?!' He screamed in his head.
Then he took a breath to try to calm down . . . that rage that did them no good right now. He didn't have an UNSUB in front of him, he had Emily.
And she was clearly already terrified.
It wasn't as though she'd screwed up on the job, this was her private life. And her private life was not subject to the same rules and regulations that her work life was. Though he wasn't AT ALL happy that she hadn't come to him immediately when she'd realized things were getting out of control, he knew that his anger was for personal reasons, not professional ones.
She could have been hurt . . . he winced . . . killed.
She could have walked into her apartment tonight and been knocked cold, bound, gagged, raped, and murdered. And he would have been called over there and he would have walked into that . . . he swallowed . . . that horror, and it would have killed him. After everything that had already happened this year . . . all of those deaths in Boston that were on his conscience . . . he wouldn't have been able to deal with that final loss.
The loss of Emily.
But he could see no reason to remind her of that potential outcome. There was blood on her walls, and her pet was gone so clearly she'd already had an 'I told you so,' well beyond any additional chiding he could extend.
To add anything now would just be cruel.
So for her sake he tried to keep his anger under control as he looked at her. But he couldn't hide his frustration when he asked the question.
"WHY didn't you tell me about any of this!?" he asked in a harsh whisper, "God Emily, you KNOW I would have helped you deal with him!"
Emily's eyes started to water again as she looked away in shame.
"I know you would have. But I didn't want to be a bother," she whispered, "we have enough of this crap going on at work. You shouldn't have to deal with it on your personal time too. It was bad enough I had to. In retrospect of course I wish I had told you, maybe things would haven't have gone this far," she looked back at him sadly, "but honestly I thought I had it under control. I brought the security video to the Alexandria police, I explained the background to them, gave them the report from the phone company documenting the earlier calls and I took out a restraining order. Then I printed off his driver's license photo and I gave it to property management and all of my doormen. Legally I did everything that I could do. The next time he showed up in front of my building, I going to have him locked up."
Her voice cracked at the end and Hotch's anger faded away.
How could he stay angry with her when she was so upset?
He tipped his head down, reaching over to pick up her hand as he said softly, "so what happened next?"
A tear ran down Emily's cheek. "I got a call while we were away that they'd served him," she tipped her head, thinking back, "that would have been two days ago now."
Then her voice broke.
"I don't understand how he was able to get my CAT!" She looked up at him in desperation, "Hotch, she doesn't go outside. And I don't give out my keys to the neighbors. If we're out of town longer than three days then my friend Kelly, you know Kelly Hsu from White Collar, she comes over and checks Daisy's water and food. So with the exception of my parents, there aren't any other keys out there except for the one I gave you for emergencies."
Everyone on the team had traded keys with someone else. After what had happened to Elle, Hotch liked to make sure that they all had a buddy. And given that he and Emily lived so close now, it made sense that they switch. So they'd traded from their previous respective partners, Dave and JJ.
Fortunately he'd never had occasion to use her emergency key so his was accounted for, it was still on his key chain. Of that he was sure because he'd seen it tonight when he was sliding the car key into the ignition.
Emily continued worriedly.
"There was no sign of a break in when I got home. The door wasn't open. The deadbolt was still set. I didn't know anything was wrong until I went inside and saw the writing. And I checked the lock while I was waiting in the hall, there aren't any scratches. Somehow he just . . . got in."
The tears that had been threatening for the last ten minutes, began to slowly slide down her face.
"What if that's her blood? I know that he took her to punish me for serving him," her voice cracked again, "so if he hasn't killed her already, then if I send them over again he'll probably," her face contorted in grief, "probably nail her to my door or something!"
Oh God . . . her hands came up to cover her face as she began to sob . . . poor kitty!
Seeing the river of tears now spilling, caused a physical pain in Hotch's chest. So he tentatively reached out to put his hand on Emily's back. Then he began rubbing slow circles as he leaned over and pressed his lips to her ear.
"It'll be okay," he whispered, "we'll get her back. You know he only took her to force contact again. You saw the writing, it was present tense. He wants to see you so he wouldn't have killed her."
Hotch couldn't go so far as to say Lipsky hadn't hurt her though. The blood on the wall was . . . he bit the inside of his cheek . . . worrisome to say the least. There were only two options, cat blood or human blood.
Neither option held any appeal.
Though . . . a third possibility came to him . . . perhaps if it was pig's blood or something else from the butcher shop, then things wouldn't be quite so dire.
Emily nodded as she tried to get her tears under control, "I know," she sniffled, "I know he's trying to force contact but I don't know how to fix this Hotch."
And she hated that it had come to this. That she had to cry to her boss because she'd so fucked up her personal life that she couldn't even fix it on her own. It was so NOT the way she wanted to be! It felt weak.
And it had happened SO quickly!
Everything was under control! She had a stupid little weasel bothering her, and she'd taken care of it all by herself. Yes, she would have felt better if she'd told Hotch what was going on just for the support, but it wasn't necessary. She could look after herself. And she hadn't planned on telling Hotch about any of it unless Lipsky violated the order and it became a larger criminal complaint. When she got home tonight, all she was planning on doing was taking a hot bath and then curling up on the couch with a huge glass of wine, her book, and her cat.
And the wine was for the shit case, NOT for Lipsky.
Instead, now she had a frigging crime scene unit on their way over to tear her home apart!
Still rubbing her back, Hotch tipped his head back slightly to look down at her.
"We'll fix this," he said firmly, "I'll help you. At this point my biggest question is that there was no sign that he broke in," his brow wrinkled worriedly as he sat up, keeping his hand on her back, "can you think of ANY way, that he could have gotten a key?"
Wiping her hand across her face, Emily looked up at him in confusion.
"I don't see how he could have. It was a blind date. We just went out for dinner, we met at the restaurant, and my creep o'meter was going crazy within ten minutes, so that was it. He's never been to my home," then she considered what she'd just finished telling him and rolled her eyes, "I mean I never invited him here, so even if he was using an extra key, I don't see how he got in the first time without me knowing. It's a deadbolt."
It was a steel door deadbolt and she was on the 8th floor. There was NO way to break in and not leave some obvious evidence behind.
Hotch began to chew his lip as his brain whirred. He was trying to think of another way Lipsky could have gained entry initially.
"At dinner," he asked, "did you leave the table? Go to the bathroom? Anything?"
If there were no marks on the door, the bastard got her key somehow.
Emily shook her head as she sat up a little more.
"No," she swallowed, "no, I don't leave my bag with people I don't know. I take it with me to the bathroom."
Then suddenly a flash of memory came to her and her eyes widened.
"Wait though, but I did leave the table for a few seconds. I saw a friend of mine in the bar and I stood up to say hello. The bar was like ten feet from our table and my bag was under the table." Then she shook her head in confusion, "but Hotch, even still, how could he get my keys? To do it in that short a window, forty-five seconds, maybe a minute, he'd have needed to have a mold with him, and I'm telling you, this was a BLIND date. I didn't even know him before that night."
Hotch stared at her for a moment before he leaned back slowly.
His blood was running cold.
It was right in front of her face and she hadn't seen it before because Lipsky hadn't wanted her to see it before.
She was not going to take this well.
Emily was staring down at her lap, so Hotch put his hand on her chin and turned her head so she was looking at him.
There was nothing on her face but confusion.
"You didn't know him," he started slowly, "but did HE know you?" His hand moved down to squeeze her shoulder as he continued trying to be gentle, "you know how these things work Emily. It's very unlikely that he would go this far this fast, after just one dinner. There's something else. Maybe something you don't know about. Who set you up?"
Emily's eyes popped as she stared at Hotch. Her horror was now growing by the second.
He was right, this was all escalating much too fast. Lipsky HAD to know her from before somehow!
Who the fuck WAS this guy?!
'FOCUS!'
The word was screamed from the back of her head. FOCUS on Hotch's questions! WHO introduced you?!
Emily's eyes fell shut, her brow furrowing as she thought back.
"About six, seven weeks ago a friend of mine, Nathan, called me at work. He said," her face scrunched, "God, what did he say exactly . . ."
Emily stopped . . . oh Jesus.
All of the color began to drain from her face as she turned to look up at Hotch.
"He said," her voice was strained, "that he had a coworker named Ed who had seen me at his Christmas party. He'd asked Scott to introduce us but Nathan had been out of town on business so he'd just gotten around to calling me."
As Hotch's eyes widened in alarm her face crumpled.
"Oh God Hotch! That party was almost THREE MONTHS ago! We just had dinner LAST month! Has this guy been following me that long!?"
Oh Jesus! Oh Christ! Oh God!
She started praying that this was a case and not her actual life that they were discussing right now. She'd thought she was just dealing with some overly persistent jerk that needed a little extra push to take no for an answer.
But obviously she'd had no idea what she was dealing with.
Then her jaw dropped as another thought came to her. Her fingernails dug into Hotch's hand as she turned to him in horror, "if he really did make a copy of my key that night at the restaurant, then he's probably been in my apartment before tonight!"
OH GOD! She'd just passed out his picture to the doormen less than a week ago! Before, if he was slick, he could have come and gone without anyone stopping him. Jesus, what if he'd been in her apartment while she was SLEEPING?!
Apparently Hotch had the same thought because he cut back worriedly, "do you sleep with your gun?"
Christ, this just got worse by the second!
"Yeah," she nodded firmly, "on the nightstand."
Letting out a slight breath, Hotch nodded, muttering under his breath, "thank God for that." Then his voice went up, "okay the techs will be here soon and we're going to have your house dusted for fingerprints and figure out what kind of blood is on the walls. If we get one hit off Lipsky, then we're getting a warrant and going through the door with SWAT. If something else pops then, well," he shook his head, "we'll reassess. But either way," his jaw hardened, "I'll still be making a visit to Lipsky's house tonight, but it'll be less official."
Nobody fucks with his people! And the only reason he wasn't already on his way Lipsky's was because of the little tickle in the back of his brain telling him that Foyet couldn't be ruled out.
Not yet.
It was highly unlikely Emily would have two UNSUBs focused on her at the same time. Hotch didn't believe in coincidences like that, but he wouldn't put it past Foyet to be somehow manipulating the situation. He could be watching the team in general, and he could have become aware of Emily's stalker and decided to do something to escalate things simply for his own amusement.
But Hotch wasn't going to mention that possibility to Emily. He had no evidence, or even reasonable supposition of Foyet's involvement, so really he'd just be scaring the shit out of her for no good reason. Besides . . . he shook his head dismissively . . . he was probably way off base with his thoughts on Foyet inserting himself here. More than likely he was just paranoid about him being on the loose and ignoring the more obvious evidence at hand. Because the cumulative evidence said it was Lipsky.
That was a clear.
So . . . he took a breath . . . he would focus on Lipsky alone until he had reason to deviate. Also, as he saw the look of distress on Emily's face at the thought of the crime scene techs tramping through her home, Hotch knew that his focus needed to be on her, not them. Whoever the UNSUB was, in this instance, that was the secondary concern.
Emily was the primary.
Because this was not just another case, this was personal. And he had to remember his role here was personal as well. So he leaned down and shook his head as he said apologetically, "Emily I know it's a terrible invasion of privacy to have them here, but it has to be done. At least we'll have something concrete to act on. And also," he stood up and put his hand out to pull her off the couch, "you're moving in with me until this is straightened out."
Emily's eyes widened as she came up beside him. "But Hotch I . . ."
But he cut her off with a shake of his head.
"No buts," he said firmly, "you're staying with me."
Then he tipped his head as he realized that perhaps he was making her uncomfortable with that definitive an assertion that she was moving in with him. So he attempted to clarify.
"I mean," he cleared his throat, "if you want to stay with one of the other guys okay, but you're not staying anywhere alone."
Not that he was being sexist about limiting her options to the men on the team. But he knew full well that Emily would never expose JJ's baby to this situation, so JJ was out. And Garcia wasn't an agent.
Which meant in that situation, Emily would be watching her back rather than the other way around.
Emily swallowed as she stared up at Hotch, then finally she nodded.
"I'll stay with you."
Her words quiet and reluctant, though her reluctance had nothing to do with Hotch personally, or ANY desire on her part to stay in the apartment alone. God only knew if she'd ever be able to sleep comfortably in her own home again. Let alone if she was there by herself with the blood still on the walls. No, her reluctance was because this was so God awful humiliating!
She had to be protected like a God damn civilian.
THAT was the humiliating part.
Not just humiliating, it was MORTIFYING! She was an FBI AGENT! One that tracked the EXACT type of offender that they were dealing with here, and she'd fucked it up. She'd totally misread the situation and now . . . now . . .
Her eyes started to sting again and she angrily shook off the tears.
No more of that. Not only was she upset and afraid and stressed and all that other crap, but she was also exhausted. It was definitely not helping on the crying front. Which was part of the reason that she preferred to stay with Hotch rather than to pull anyone else into this nightmare. Not that she didn't think Hotch would be apprising them all of what had happened, but the entire team didn't need to have a front row seat to her emotional breakdown.
It could affect how they viewed her.
Not that she was relishing Hotch witnessing this breakdown either, but . . . her expression softened as she looked up and saw him staring worriedly at her . . . she knew that part of what happened tonight was safe with him. This man did not speak out of school, and as thanks for that, Emily reached over and squeezed his hand. When she saw his eyes crinkle slightly as he squeezed back, she almost started crying again.
But she swallowed over the lump in her throat . . . there was no more time for that right now. It was time to get her shit together. So she looked up at him imploringly.
"You promise me that you'll help me get back . . ." her voice stuttered, "my cat?"
Daisy, her brain automatically corrected. But she'd been very specific in not saying her name. Emily loved her. And she couldn't stop the emotional connection her heart made every time she thought about her being tortured or . . . she bit her lip . . . killed. Because she knew the odds weren't good that she was okay. And the police wouldn't be focused on Daisy's safe retrieval, not like Hotch would be. The stalking laws themselves had little teeth in them.
Pet theft alone was barely a misdemeanor.
So as much as she wanted to go through Lipsky's door right now and put her boot through his spine, they needed something solid to justify it to the local police. This certainly wasn't an FBI matter, so it wasn't like they could call in HRT. It was local jurisdiction. And though she knew from the look on Hotch's face that he was close to moving off reservation, for the moment . . . with the police here . . . they were playing by the book.
Hotch looked at Emily for a moment before he squeezed her hand again and nodded.
"I promise," he said softly as he held her gaze, "I promise we'll get her back."
That wasn't a promise he should be making. If this was a retaliatory act for the restraining order, then God knew what he did to that animal after he got it home. Even if he hadn't killed it, such a small creature couldn't survive any serious injury.
Certainly not without immediate medical treatment.
But Emily knew those odds as well as he did. What she needed right now weren't statistical outcomes. What she needed was hope. Hope and a friend to tell her that it would be all right.
Even if wouldn't be.
So he started to lead her out of the laundry room, when something she had said a few minutes earlier suddenly came roaring back to him. He froze.
"Wait," his eyes widened, "you said if you're gone for more than three days, then Agent Hsu comes to feed Daisy?"
Emily looked over at him curiously.
"Yeah, if I'm not back by then, she stops in and checks her food and water. Why?"
What did that have to do with anything? They'd only been gone . . . she started doing the math and her eyes popped . . . OH NO!
TODAY WAS DAY FOUR!
They'd left Sunday afternoon and now it was Thursday night. She'd COMPLETELY lost track of time! And Kelly didn't bother her when she was on a case. Emily just shot her a text when she left town and then Kelly checked in with the desk on the third day to find out if they were on their way home yet. If they weren't, then . . . Emily started frantically patting her pockets . . . she'd swing by Emily's condo on the way home from work and check on Daisy.
That meant tonight! She would have been here TONIGHT! Tonight when something . . . or someone . . . was bled out so that this psychopath could write a message in blood on the walls!
When Emily's eyes snapped up and she started yanking her phone from her pocket, Hotch saw that she'd picked up on his thought process. While she was frantically scrolling through her phone directory, Hotch grabbed her arm and started running them back down the hall to her apartment.
"WHAT'S HER ADDRESS?!"
Emily was only half listening to Hotch's yell as the call went to voicemail.
FUCK!
"EMILY! ADDRESS?!" Hotch hollered again and her eyes snapped over, "1327 LEE HIGHWAY, APT B!"
They burst back through her apartment door, Hotch slamming it shut behind them as he yelled up to the police officers pounding down the stairs.
Clearly in response to their screaming.
"I need you to send a car to 1327 Lee Highway, Apt B! Resident is FBI Special Agent Kelly Hsu!" Hotch jerked his head towards the writing on the wall, "she was checking on the cat!"
The first officer . . . Simon . . . shot a look over his shoulder at the blood as he started calling frantically into his radio.
"Dispatch, I need a sector car for a priority one personal welfare check!"
Once Hotch was sure that the car was being sent, he whipped back around to see Emily dialing again.
"How many times have you tried?" He asked anxiously.
"Four!" she answered in a near panic, "two cell, two house." She hit the cell number again as she put the phone back to her ear, "God Hotch, what if he . . .?"
But he cut her off.
"We don't know anything yet. Don't let your mind go down the what if road. Right now we just need to talk to her. Is she married? Is there somebody else that you could call?"
"No," she shook her head, "nobody. No boyfriend right now, and she lives alone."
The voicemail picked up and she started leaving another frantic message.
"Kel, it's Em, I need you to call me on my cell right away! As soon as you get this. There's been a . . ."
Hotch tuned out the rest of the words . . . he'd just heard them a moment before . . . as he started focusing in on how quickly things were spinning out of control.
Regardless of what he'd just said to Emily about what ifs, and regardless of the inherent truth of that statement, Hotch still had a very bad feeling. And he'd had a bad feeling because as soon as the back of his brain had processed that this was the fourth day, he'd suddenly had the full film strip playing in his head. Because he'd been doing this for too long, so he knew exactly how things went when they went completely off the rails.
And they were well off the rails now.
So the work day had ended and Agent Hsu knew that Emily wasn't home yet, so she'd decided to stop in to check on the cat before she went back to her own place. It should have been five minutes, in and out.
EXCEPT, the UNSUB had been watching Emily for at least two months and he knew the routine.
They'd had at least six cases out of town since the holidays. So he knew that after a certain number of days that Emily's friend would be going to the apartment to check the cat. So when Emily didn't return immediately after he was served, allowing him to directly address his grievances about the restraining order . . . the stressor . . . the Lipsky followed her friend up to the apartment and took her by surprise at the door.
Agent Hsu might have been an armed but she wasn't on duty, and her day to day routine wasn't inherently dangerous. She didn't investigate serial murderers, she went after corporate embezzlers. Her unit was made up of accountants that carried guns they never used.
A raid for her would be to seize computers and tax returns.
So in all likelihood she wasn't generally going to be any more suspicious of strangers than the average citizen. And she wasn't in a dimly lit parking garage. She was in her friend's well lit, safe, neighborhood apartment building coming over to put some kibble into a bowl. She sure as hell wouldn't have been expecting an ambush. His eyes snapped over to the blood on the wall.
So she really wouldn't have had much of a chance at all.
God . . . his stomach clenched . . . that poor woman. And Emily . . . he looked back down at her . . . she was not going to take this one in stride. No reason to upset her just yet though, he decided. He'd just let her keep calling her friend. There was still a possibility . . . admittedly a very small one . . . that this wasn't her blood.
That maybe something else had happened here.
'You're kidding yourself, trying to make this easier for Emily,' a little voice whispered in the back of his head.
Well, maybe he was, but either way he was keeping his very specific theory to himself for another few minutes.
So as Emily continued to frantically call Agent Hsu's number, Hotch stepped away to check the rest of the living room again. The first time they'd walked through they were looking for felines and UNSUBS. Now he was looking for something else.
Evidence.
His eyes bounced around the room, looking for something that wouldn't be obvious. Something they wouldn't see until they started looking for it.
THE COUCH!
The fabric was dark blue. He hurried over and lifted the end cushion with the tips of his fingers.
SHIT!
Blood. And it was still wet.
He swallowed as he carefully moved the other cushion to the side. Then he winced.
Another sticky mess underneath.
Feeling his adrenaline racing again, Hotch's eyes shot across the room to Emily leaving another panicked message on Agent Hsu's answering machine. She needed to know about this, but he put it off for a second. First he went back over to Officer Simon . . . Krasinski had just run out to guide the crime scene techs upstairs. Hotch could hear Simon talking to his sergeant but still he needed to interrupt.
But he did it quietly with a gesture to the sofa while he whispered harshly into the other man's ear.
"There's a substantial amount of blood soaked into the cushions. We're beyond a welfare check. Put an APB out on Agent Hsu. We need to find her NOW!"
His voice went up at the end and his eyes snapped back over to Emily.
Still distracted on the phone.
Hotch continued to stare at her as he added to the officer.
"Also, possible suspect here, Edward Lipsky of Ballston. Agent Prentiss filed a restraining order against him last week. Get his particulars out. At best he's a person of interest, at worst he's grievously wounded an armed federal agent. So to be safe, have him listed as armed and dangerous."
The officer's eyes snapped over to the couch before he started talking into his radio again, immediately putting out an APB on both individuals before asking for an immediate status update from the sector car checking the apartment on Lee Highway.
That was all he could do there.
Though with that much blood under the cushions . . . flipped over to buy more time before it was discovered . . . Hotch was surprised that the UNSUB (Lipsky) got Agent Hsu out of there at all. If she was still alive, he must have wrapped her in something, likely something he'd brought, and cleaned up before he'd left.
Good Christ . . . Hotch's brain started whirling down bad roads again . . . what if they'd landed earlier? What if Emily had come home earlier?
What would have happened if she'd walked in on this horror show?
Feeling a stab in his gut at the implications, Hotch stood there by the stairs, watching the woman in question over by the kitchen counter. He was listening to the officer's radio, waiting for the police on scene to make contact with Agent Hsu. There was no response at her door.
They were waiting for permission to break it down.
Hotch's mind began to race with next steps.
Should he call the rest of the team? Or maybe, at least Dave?
He bit his lip . . . he just wasn't sure. He didn't know what they were dealing with yet. Yes, this was a criminal matter, clearly . . . he thought bitterly . . . it was a criminal matter, but was it also a BAU matter? A single offender stalking a single victim, he couldn't generally in good conscience utilize their collective expertise on a case such as that. Not when there were so many multiple murders, multiple rapes and missing children all across the country. Putting his personal feelings for Emily aside . . . which was admittedly very difficult . . . Hotch knew that to take the entire team off rotation for her situation would be irresponsible.
Extremely irresponsible, really.
Also, Strauss had slapped their wrists pretty hard after the debacle with the Vatican last month. So if he again diverted the full resources of the team for an Emily situation, well, that was going to be IMPOSSIBLE to justify. Strauss would likely suspend him, possibly even reassign him for lack of objectivity and gross misuse of resources. And those would be hard charges to fight. Because he could admit, at least to himself . . . his eyes followed her fingers as they nervously ran through her hair . . . that he was not at all objective when it came to Emily Prentiss. That was why he'd let her push so hard on Matthew's murder. Of course even from the beginning there, he'd known he should have benched her, possibly even taken her gun, but . . . he couldn't do it.
She'd wanted something and he just couldn't say no to her.
So he blamed himself entirely for things getting as fucked up as they had. It had been his fault. He should have kept her close, kept a watch on her.
Kept her with him.
So THIS time . . . his jaw clenched . . . this time, she wasn't going off with Rossi or Morgan. No, this time she was staying with him 24/7. This would not become another cluster, and if the two of them had to work off the books so be it. But this time the team as a whole . . . at least officially . . . would be busy elsewhere.
They could not catch Strauss' eye again.
Granted the potential assault or murder of Agent Hsu would at least provide federal jurisdiction if anyone wanted to take it from the locals, but still, it wouldn't be justification to take on the case themselves. Because as far as basic BAU criteria went, it would still be a single offender with a single victim.
Emily.
Agent Hsu was . . . he winced as he heard the go order to take down the door . . . collateral damage.
His thoughts came to a screeching halt then by a burst of static through the radio. And then, all hell broke loose.
". . . ODE 51! REPEAT WE HAVE A CODE 51! IT'S A MESS! ADULT FEMALE, SEND THE WAGON AND THE TECHS! AND GOOD CHRIST WE NEED A STREET SUPERVISOR NOW!"
Emily's head had whipped around when she heard the screaming start. She was already racing across the room before it had stopped.
"What's going on!?" She asked frantically as her eyes scanned the faces of the men around her, "are they at Kelly's apartment?! Is that where they need the ME?!"
Officer Simon's gaze immediately slid away from hers and she had her answer.
"NO!" Her eyes filled with tears as she screamed, "NO! ALL SHE WAS DOING WAS FEEDING THE CAT! SHE CAN'T BE DEAD! THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE!"
But she could see from the looks on the other men's faces that it was.
Kelly was dead.
OH SHIT! OH GOD!
Emily doubled over, sucking wind, feeling the grief rising up.
NO! No! She wasn't going to lose it! NOT here! So she took a breath . . . and then she took another . . . and another.
It was one thing to allow Hotch to see her weak, but it was something else entirely . . . she slowly inhaled and exhaled as she stared at the shiny black tips of the officer's boots . . . to allow this other man to see her that way. The time for her personal grief was later. Now she needed to get it together. She needed to focus to figure out what the hell was happening.
Feeling warm fingers encircling wrist, Emily's wild eyes snapped up Hotch's. They stared at each other for a moment. Usually he was so stoic, but he was doing a lousy job of keeping on his game face tonight. And seeing his emotions so close to the surface was doing nothing for her own sense of control.
When his fingers slid down to grasp hers, she cleared her throat.
"Can . . .?"
The rest of the question caught in her throat. But fortunately Hotch knew what she was asking and he nodded sadly.
"Yeah," he squeezed her index and middle fingers as he answered gently, "yeah, we can go."
Though this wasn't something that he thought she should see . . . it wasn't something that he wanted her to see . . . he knew that in her position that he wouldn't take no for an answer. Yes, keeping her safe was his paramount concern, but he was also trying not to coddle her. If it was something that he would want to do himself . . . and he could ensure her safety while they did it . . . then he wasn't going to shield her from anything simply out of some antiquated chauvinism.
It would be disrespectful to her and their whole relationship.
But just before they started out, he pulled out his card and handed it over to Officer Simon.
"We're going to the other scene. If anyone needs us, or you get an update on Lipsky's location, my cell's on there."
Emily turned back, sliding her own card out as well and handing it over too.
It was her apartment, her UNSUB . . . her dead friend. This was her problem, not Hotch's. Okay . . . she felt the tug on her hand as they started out the door . . . he'd probably see it as their problem. But she wasn't going to be dependent on him.
Her eyes started to water as they walked down to the elevator . . . she was going to pull her own weight here.
Just like always.
As they stepped into the elevator Hotch looked down to see Emily frantically blinking. Though wished there was something he could do to comfort her now, he knew how much effort it was taking her to keep it together. And he didn't want to do something that would break her concentration.
So for her sake, for a moment, he tried to pretend like this wasn't what it was.
Her life.
He took the keys out of his pocket and held them up in front of her.
"You want to drive?"
At the moment it was all he could offer. A distraction.
Emily swallowed as she bit down on her lip. Then she turned to give him a sad smile.
She could probably count on one hand the number of times Hotch had let her drive, let alone his personal vehicle.
"Yeah," she took the keys from his hand with a nod, "thanks."
/*/*/*/
As they raced over to Kelly's apartment, Emily listened while Hotch called and told Kelly's chief, SSA Willis, that Kelly was dead. And she ached with guilt as she heard Hotch attempting to explain what had happened.
Why she was dead.
Intellectually Emily knew that this wasn't her fault, but she still felt responsible. Because Kelly was dead because of her. She was dead because she was her friend.
That was a fact.
After a minute of listening to Agent Willis ask frantic, grief stricken, questions for which he had no answers, Hotch gently cut in and told her again how very sorry he was for the loss of her agent, and that he'd call her when he knew more. Then he hung up.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
/*/*/*/
When they pulled up across from Kelly's apartment building, the ME's office was just arriving. Emily put Hotch's car into park and then they watched the scene through the window. The orderlies opened the back of the black van and took out the gurney with the black bag on it.
Emily had seen the same scene repeated dozens of times, in dozens of places, all around the country. And as awful as all of those days had been, she'd never truly appreciated what a terribly sad moment it was too. A human life, reduced to transport in a plastic bag.
Like a piece of trash.
At that imagery, a wave of grief ripped through her chest then, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep the sob from escaping.
God, please don't let me lose it now!
"Emily," Hotch whispered sadly as he leaned over and squeezed her shoulder, "we don't have to do this. We can go directly to the station and you can give your statement there. We don't need to be here at all."
Seeing her like this was killing him. It had been bad enough when Matthew had died because he'd seen then how much she was hurting and just like now, he'd been unable to do anything to comfort her. That death had been barely seven weeks ago, and now here she was again mourning the loss of somebody she loved.
It wasn't right.
His hand rubbed along her arm . . . it wasn't right at all.
Emily squeezed her lids tightly shut as she breathed in and out, over and over, feeling Hotch's hand on her arm.
It was close to a minute before she finally was able to open her watery eyes. She turned to him with a blink.
"I'm okay," she said firmly, "I'm okay. I want to do this."
More to the point, she needed to do this. Because she owed it to Kelly. It was all that she could for her.
Bear witness.
Hotch stared back at Emily for a moment before he finally gave her a slow nod.
"Okay, if you're sure. But you wait for me before you get out. And I want you right next to me the whole time, understood? And watch the bystanders. Keep your eyes peeled for Lipsky."
On the way over, Hotch had pulled up Lipsky's driver's license photo on his phone. Clean cut, six foot, two inch Caucasian male, hazel eyes, blonde hair.
Objectively he would definitely be considered attractive but there was something there in his eyes. Something flat.
Something wrong.
So even if he hadn't been pegged as their possible UNSUB, Hotch still would have had a negative reaction to the photo. He could definitely see why Emily's, as she'd called it, 'creep o'meter,' would have been going off.
His was too.
And as he stepped out of the car, Hotch's eyes were bouncing everywhere at once as he hurried around to the driver's side.
It was already full dark, and there was a crowd forming across the street.
All brought out by the flashing red and blue lights.
The UNSUB could be in there . . . a little voice popped up worriedly . . . this could have been an effort to lure Emily out.
The little voice was right. So he found his hand, which had simply been hovering over his sidearm, clamp down on the butt of his revolver.
Just in case.
Then he quickly opened Emily's door and she climbed out, coming up next to him.
His eyes were still circling the shadows in the buildings around them as he grabbed her hand with his free on, and hurried them across the street.
Ordinarily he wouldn't be caught dead holding one of his agent's hands at a crime scene. But they weren't there in their professional capacity.
Today, for all intents, they were civilians.
Armed . . . he flashed his ID at the officers watching the tape . . . badged, civilians, but his role at the moment wasn't to investigate this woman's murder. It was to provide emotional support and physical protection to Emily. Because again, Emily was the number priority here.
The case was number two.
As they stepped through the entrance and into the lobby, ahead of them, Hotch saw one of the crime scene technicians coming down the stairs.
He was carrying a cage.
That's when suddenly Emily shrieked from his side.
"DAISY!"
And she broke free from his hand, and he quickly followed after her as she ran over to the startled technician.
"Oh Daisy!" She cried, as she put her hands on the metal cage. Then she looked up at the man holding the cat and asked with panic in her voice, "what did he do to her?!"
Her fur was all bloody, and she was shaking, but Emily couldn't see where she'd been cut.
"Uh," the guy looked back and forth between Emily and Hotch, "I don't . . . uh, um . . ."
Seeing that this man was utterly confused . . . understandable . . . Hotch pulled out his badge again.
"FBI, Agents Hotchner and Prentiss," he identified them each with a hand gesture, before he tipped his head down to the cage. "This is Agent Prentiss' cat," then his gaze shifted up the stairs as he added softly, "and that was Agent Prentiss' friend. Now," he put his hand out, "could we please take custody of the animal?"
'For the love of GOD give me the cat!' He screamed in his head.
If nothing else came out of this night, at least he could get Emily's beloved pet back to her. After they'd found Hsu's body he'd figured the cat was . . . as Emily had said . . . most likely only going to be found again after it was nailed to her front door. The fact that Lipsky hadn't killed it . . . that he'd left it for her to find . . . was a sign that this wasn't over yet. He was going to try to use it as a bargaining chip. Evidence of how much he cared.
Fucking asshole.
But Hotch didn't really give a shit about any of that right now though. All he cared about was that Emily was crying, and she wanted her cat back. And if Hotch had to drag the God damn Chief of the Alexandria police out of bed to get it for her, then that was what he was going to do!
The man looked over his badge and then at the tears running down Emily's face as she murmured to Daisy through the cage.
The cat was mewling softly back.
Finally he tipped his head as he said slowly, "well, if you sign the chain of custody you can take her. But the cat still needs to be processed at the lab."
As they both looked at him in confusion he explained haltingly.
"Uh, it's not hurt . . . that's not her blood."
Hotch winced at the implications. Then he saw the look of horror that had spread across Emily's face right before it crumpled and she began to truly sob. These were the sobs that she'd pushed back down at the condo and then again in the car.
They'd finally beaten her.
As his heart twisted in pain, Hotch decided to do something that he'd never done before. He reached over and slipped his arm around Emily's waist. As he pulled her against his side, he put his hand out for the cage.
"Thank you," he swallowed, "we'll bring her down to the station in a little while. I assume that we'll be able to take her home once you're done with the evidence collection?"
Home.
The word caught in his brain. When he said it the way he just had, it sounded like they were a couple. Then he realized that he had his arm around Emily's waist and she was sobbing on his shoulder. Yeah . . . his eyes tracked over the faces in the lobby watching them and he pulled Emily more closely into his side . . . all of these people definitely were assuming that they were a couple.
For a second that bothered him.
It was the implied impropriety inherent in what they were doing if they were involved and working a case. But then he remembered that they weren't on the job. This was a personal matter. So he decided to say screw it to appearances and started to rub Emily's side consolingly.
It was something proactive to do.
The technician bit his lip in sympathy as he saw Emily weeping. Then his eyes snapped up to Hotch's as he nodded.
"Uh, yeah, and I'm on until midnight," he checked his watch, "it's almost ten now. If you guys just ask for me, John Kass, I'll do it right away and you can take her home."
"Thank you very much Mr. Kass," Hotch nodded his gratitude as he grasped the handle of the cage, "we'll be there within the hour."
The tech nodded, his eyes shifting down to Emily once more before he turned and went back up to the apartment.
There was obviously more work to be done.
So Hotch watched him go until he'd disappeared up the stairs. Then he looked around the lobby.
It was clearly authorized personnel only.
Still though . . . he shot them a scowl as he guided Emily over to one of the end chairs spaced throughout the marble foyer . . . he didn't want them to have a front row to her grief. Because he knew from how she had her face was pressed into his coat, that Emily was embarrassed. So he sat her down and put the cage on the floor at her feet.
The cat was still shaking and Hotch had to wonder what the hell had gone on upstairs if it was still so traumatized even after being reunited with Emily.
But the cat's issues would have to wait a moment.
In the meantime, he crouched in front of this woman who had grown to mean so much to him . . . he picked up her hands. Her gaze slowly lifted up to his.
The tears were beginning to taper off.
"Oh Emily," he whispered with a squeeze of her fingers, "I'm so sorry."
His condolences were as much for the death of her friend as they were for having it beat over her head in such a cruel fashion. He knew how hard she'd been trying to keep it together. How much comfort she generally took in her ability to compartmentalize her feelings, so that then she could deal with these terrible things on her own time. So to lose it completely in a room full of fellow law enforcement, that was an additional hit for her tonight.
An embarrassment that she did not need right now.
Emily's eyes locked onto Hotch's . . . she took a shuddering breath.
She wanted to apologize for crying in front of everyone. For letting things get so out of hand.
For not coming to him earlier when all of this could have been prevented.
It was all on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her mouth all she got out was a watery, "I . . ." and Hotch cut her off with a shake of his head.
"Don't," he whispered, "it's okay."
His eyes dropped down for a moment before he looked back at her. Then he ran his thumb along the inside of her left wrist as he asked softly, "do you still want to go upstairs?"
Feeling a tingle where Hotch's thumb was running along her skin, Emily sniffed.
"No, but," she pulled her other hand back to wipe across her face, "I have to. I owe her that much."
The LAST thing she wanted to do right now was go up and see what this psychopath had done to her friend.
To see the bloody little paw prints that she now knew would be all over the apartment.
But there might be a clue there meant just for her. Something that the local detectives wouldn't understand.
That was why she needed to go.
"Okay," Hotch took a breath as he stood up, pulling her slowly to her feet. There was barely an inch of space between them, but he didn't move back. Because now he was deliberately blocking her from the rest of the room so she could clean her face. He'd already decided that it didn't matter if these people thought they were involved, so he wasn't much worried about inferences on their lack of personal space.
So he breathed in the mingled scent of her perfume (Shalimar), her shampoo, (Pantene), and her Emily'ness as he waited for her to pull herself back together.
As he stood there he had an overwhelming urge to put his hand on her hip . . . but he firmly resisted that desire. He told himself it was a conditioned response to having a woman so far into his personal space.
That was what he told himself . . . but even he didn't believe that one for a second.
Once Emily had wiped her face and blown her nose, she looked back up at Hotch.
He was so close she had to strain her head slightly.
"How do I look?"
Her voice was a little hoarse and Hotch's expression softened as he gave her a faint smile, "you look just fine."
Her eyes were wide and still glistening. And her cheeks were flushed from where she'd been scrubbing at them with the tissue. She didn't just look fine.
She looked beautiful.
Emily gave him a very watery smile back.
"You're a bad liar," she wiped her hand across her nose again, "but it doesn't matter anyway."
They were going up to see the lifeless body of one of her oldest friends, so clearly her appearance wasn't actually important at all.
Then her brow inched up, when she saw Hotch still staring at her.
"What?" she asked huskily.
He slowly shook his head.
"Nothing," he leaned down to pick up the cat's cage, "nothing at all."
For a moment he'd considered telling her that the lie wasn't that she looked bad, it was that she looked beautiful. He thought it might cheer her up.
Something superficial to offset the embarrassment of what had just happened.
But then he'd realized how inappropriate his words would have been. It was bad enough that he was having these thoughts at a crime scene, he couldn't express them aloud.
It would be distasteful.
Emily leaned down then to whisper something to Daisy that Hotch couldn't hear. When she was done, she took a deep breath and held her hand out to him.
He didn't look at her face.
He just stared at her fingers for a moment before he curled his larger digits around her smaller ones.
"Are you ready?" he whispered.
"Yes," she murmured back.
So he tightened his grasp . . . and they started up the stairs.
A/N 2: No, I didn't kill Daisy, but Kelly had to take one for the team.
All sorts of things are kind of swirling around my brain in this story. Trying to address their onscreen relationship mid-late season 4, and reconciling their seeming closeness with their (at that stage) uncharacteristic distance during their two respective 'very special episodes.' Hotch especially, I've already written a story (The Middle Ground, if you're interested) with my take on why he was behaving the way he was in Demonology. But in that one they're involved, in this one, they aren't. But I could also see him f'ing things up because her hurting so openly with Matthew's death, makes him realize that he's got deeper feelings for her so he pulls back even further thinking Morgan and Rossi would be better buffers so he didn't do something stupid. But his way of showing he cared was NOT reigning her in until he'd let things go much too far. So I took that, and the lesson he would have learned from that, plus all of the guilt he was feeling after Omnivore, and swirled it into one big giant neurotic mess Hotch. Now he's determined not to make the same mistakes he did in Demonology by letting her go off and deal with things on her own, and he's also incredibly paranoid about Foyet showing up again, so that's coloring his actions too. But is it Foyet or is it Lipsky who's screwing with Emily now?
Also, this really won't be a 'whole team effort' for the reasons Hotch said. I just don't see them getting away with another dedicated full resources effort to handle a single team member's personal issue. It's not like when Hotch was nearly killed by Foyet, that was a personal attack and Foyet was already a known serial killer. If they had a major diplomatic flap and Strauss already doesn't care for Emily or Hotch, I see her taking serious action if he mobilized everyone for Emily's personal issue, again. Not to say they won't be helping out from behind the scenes, but there will be no huddling in the bullpen.
Hopefully you're still enjoying this one. This chapter was VERY long but we're still on day one, hour one and as I plan for a certain period of time to be covered in this story, I didn't want to drag this one night into like 17 little chapters.