Author's Note (2021): I know this one has been oddly taking more time to repost than the others. It was just as I started reading over these first couple chapters, I wasn't happy with them. It wasn't like the other reposts where I would just spot an occasional missing comma or a small section that could benefit from a bit of extra scene description. The issues here were messier. So I actually cut out a few small sections here and there, and toned down a few other points. I remember on the first post that this was a difficult chapter, so it makes sense that it still was, but I am at least happier now with this version than the old one.

So picks up the next morning. This entire chapter is from Em's POV, as Hotch again just makes a small cameo.

The Cluster

When Emily woke up the next morning she rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

She'd dreamed about Hotch. They were really good dreams . . . she smiled . . . flashes of them being together as a couple.

They were happy.

But . . . her spirits started to fall, and the smile slipped away . . . those were just dreams. Snapshots from a world manufactured solely by her imagination. She swallowed.

They weren't real.

And that sucked. Because the one thing, literally the only thing, that had become CRYSTAL clear to her over the last twenty-four hours, was that she was falling in love with this man. It had kind of crept up on her, but she was starting to accept that was the truth of the situation. It was a messy truth though, a confusing one, mostly because she still didn't actually know that her feelings for him were reciprocated.

And once again, him dropping off the face of the earth, really wasn't doing much for her ego in this area.

Now trying to ward off the cloud of depression she could feel descending, as she lay there, Emily made herself start running through all of the sweet things that Hotch had said or done over the past few months. Because those moments . . . she took a breath . . . those weren't manufactured by her imagination.

They were real.

Her eyes stung as she thought back, because it was clear to her in those memories that Hotch LIKED spending time with her. He did. His eyes would crinkle when she laughed, and he'd reward her with a dimple and a little grin if she told him a particularly ridiculous story, and on more than one occasion (off duty) he had put his hand on her back and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

These were big things for someone like Aaron Hotchner. A man who lived inside a shell constructed entirely to keep the rest of the world at arm's length. But not her.

Her he let in.

And that kiss, God that kiss, that had definitely been real too. Still, she was terrified of setting herself up for disappointment. Because even if he was fond of her . . . the only word she was willing to use at the moment . . . it didn't mean that he was ready to jump into full fledged relationship. She was though.

She absolutely was.

And she honestly wasn't sure if she could go back to pretending that she felt nothing for him but friendship, if that was all he wanted/was ready for right now. So then what was she going to do?

Exactly.

So once more she was lying there staring at the ceiling in the exact same mental state that she'd been when she went to bed. Of course that was because she had no more information now than she'd had then! She was still stuck in limbo.

And that totally sucked.

So she rolled over to stare at her cell phone lying next to her pillow where she'd dropped it last night. After a moment she opened it and read over his sparse words again. She rolled her eyes.

No help there!

Though . . . a thought suddenly occurred to her . . . maybe the lack of detail was in and of itself a point to keep in mind. It was something that she had forgotten yesterday. Something that she had forgotten even as she lay here feeling miserable and confused.

Hotch was a guy.

Perhaps not a typical guy, but still a guy nonetheless. And twenty-six years of dating had taught her that quite often guys did things that were completely baffling or insensitive. But often . . . at least if they were decent men to start . . . they did those things without any true intent to cause emotional harm. Men just didn't see basic communication to be quite as complicated as women do. Most things with them were black and white.

Women see everything in shades of grey.

Basically you could take all of the behavioral classes in the world, and you still wouldn't really have the first clue what thoughts were going through your boyfriend's head. Okay, maybe she might have a slight advantage over the average woman, but still, she certainly wasn't a mind reader. If anything, behavioral analysis was somewhat of a hindrance when it came to dating. You were always looking for the things that the other person wasn't saying with words.

Trying to interpret your man's behavior within various contexts, just so you could anticipate his next move.

That was a fabulous skill when you were hunting predators, but generally not so helpful when you were just trying to find a good man who wanted to keep his toothbrush in your bathroom for the next forty years. And even though men and women intrinsically saw the world differently, Emily knew that she wasn't the only profiler with this problem. Even though she was the only female profiler on the team, it was obvious from the relationship track record of the guys, that behavioral analysis was most definitely NOT a magic bullet for finding your soul mate. After all, Dave and Hotch had four divorces between them, Derek was a serial dater, and Spencer would rather talk to a serial killer than a pretty girl.

So taking all of that into consideration . . . the BAU's overall pathetic record when it came to relationships . . . Emily decided that she needed to take a different approach to this situation with Hotch.

She needed to conduct a purely clinical assessment.

Instead of bogging herself down in the rollercoaster of emotions that she was feeling, or trying to interpret the nuances of Hotch's recent behavior, she should go scientific. Analyze Hotch's collective behavior towards her over the last six months, versus his collective behavior towards her over the last twenty-four hours.

And after she did that, in simple black and white, it was obvious that his level of demonstrated affection for her had been steadily escalating over these past few months.

So that meant, clinically speaking, until she had concrete reason to believe otherwise, Hotch at least deserved the benefit of the doubt regarding his intentions over these past twenty-four hours.

Therefore . . . the pressure on her chest started to ease up . . . there was no point in creating all of this drama in her head, when it was possible that the only thing happening here was just that Hotch was . . . for a change . . . thinking like a typical guy.

Which, though it was a bit unkind, basically meant that he wasn't thinking at all.

And if she didn't want to continue to drive herself nuts, then she needed to try and think like him for a minute. She needed to just stop and think like a guy for a minute.

Specifically she needed to think like THIS guy for a minute.

So in plain English, Hotch . . . a man who did not lie . . . said that he'd catch up with her today. And that meant that they'd definitely talk today. They'd talk, she'd find out what was going on and why he'd left town so suddenly. And then hopefully he'd apologize for not talking to her earlier, or at least explain why he hadn't been able to, and when all was said and done, she'd feel really stupid for stressing out for no good reason at all.

Okay . . . a little more of the tension left her body . . . she felt a bit better now that she had a logical alternate explanation for his utterly bewildering behavior. Because the last thing she wanted to do was to let her stupid insecurities cause a problem where there might not be one.

So for now she would just assume that maybe it was a man/woman communication thing. And maybe that was just something they would have to work on in the future.

'If they had a future,' the little voice piped up. But Emily told that little voice where it could go.

She wanted no more chick drama right now.

So with a sigh, she pushed back the blankets. And as she padded into the bathroom, Emily reminded herself NOT to jump down his throat when he did call. Until she knew what was happening with him, she really had no concrete reason at all to believe that he'd done anything but behave like a typical guy who was unable to communicate in texts beyond four word responses.

And . . . she pouted in the mirror . . . he was still a guy that it would be nice to share a bathroom with for the next thirty or forty years. If they could just get their shit together!

And with that last uplifting thought, Emily jumped into the shower.

/*/*/*/*

Emily arrived at the office feeling slightly less neurotic than she had when she left it the day before. Unfortunately her insecurities . . . with a healthy dose of righteous indignation . . . came roaring back again almost immediately.

And that was because of Rossi.

At the nine am briefing, Dave relayed another message from Hotch. This time it was about case assignments. And as Dave ran down the list, all of Emily's clean scientific analysis went right out the window. All she could think was . . . what the FUCK?! She got a six word text and Dave got a frigging twenty minute narrative on CASE assignments! If Hotch had the time to do that, then why the hell couldn't he have left her an actual VOICEMAIL last night telling her what was going on!?

All right, all right, calm down crazy lady . . . rational brain yelled from the bleachers . . . maybe he was trying to be nice and not wake you up!

That thought almost doused her anger . . . reminder of sweet Hotch . . . but then suddenly rational brain took a beat down by geeky naysayer.

You have a work voicemail! And that's where he was calling Dave! So all Hotch had to do was punch in four digits to pop out of one message box and into another. But he hadn't done that, had he Emily?

He hadn't taken thirty seconds to pop out of one voicemail to leave her a real message.

Emily was getting herself good and steamed at what she was now seeing as his complete thoughtlessness, when suddenly Derek simultaneously broke into her little mental tantrum, and Dave's recitation.

"What's going on with him, man?"

Rossi shrugged.

"I honestly have no idea. He left both of his messages around midnight. This last one said he probably wouldn't be back until Monday, but that Strauss was aware, so I didn't have to worry about it."

Knowing how much Hotch hated to have to talk to Erin, Dave figured that whatever was going on with him had to be pretty big. Otherwise he wouldn't have basically gone AWOL. He wasn't offering to consult by phone or conference into meetings. That was bizarre. And it wasn't at all like him to go off the grid like this.

Dave was getting worried.

They were all silent for a moment. And a new voice in Emily's head . . . the danger Will Robinson voice that kept her alive kicking down doors . . . pointed out that Hotch suddenly disappearing for almost a full week was not a good sign of anything.

All of her anger immediately washed away. It was replaced by a small stab of fear in her stomach.

Something was really wrong.

Frowning slightly, Reid leaned forward.

"A week? That's odd. But it can't be too serious, or he would have said something, right?"

It was obvious to Emily that Spencer was looking for some reassurance on this front. And she would have loved to help him out, but she was looking for some reassurance on this front herself.

But then Derek kindly provided some for both of them as he intoned from Reid's right.

"Not necessarily kid. You know how close mouthed Hotch is. Hell, we didn't even know that Haley had left him for almost a month."

Reid looked over worriedly.

"Yeah, but that was something bad. So maybe this is something really bad too."

Trying to think on the bright side, JJ cut in, "yeah, but we also found out weeks later that he was awarded that bravery citation for what happened in Philly."

As uncharacteristic as Hotch's disappearance was, JJ refused to go with the default position that something horrible had happened. Looking at the frown lines on half of the team members' faces, JJ knew that there were already enough pessimists at the table.

Somebody had to think positively.

Derek nodded firmly.

"Exactly. That's exactly my point. Hotch is as likely to keep us in the dark about winning the lottery, as he is about a death in the family."

"DEREK!" Garcia smacked him from his other side, "don't joke about somebody dying!"

To which Morgan shot her a look of annoyance.

"I wasn't 'joking' about anything, Garcia. You know that's just how Hotch is. ALL of his business is personal business. He isn't a," Derek mimed air quotes, "sharer."

Which was exactly why Morgan refused to freak out about his boss' absence. Until they had some concrete reason to believe that there was a problem, he wasn't going to start worrying. At least not seriously. And besides, even if there was a problem, what the hell were they going to do about it? If Hotch had wanted to share with them, he would have shared.

But he didn't.

And no matter how good their intentions, it would be a cold day in hell before Aaron Hotchner would appreciate ANYONE digging into his personal life without his permission.

That could get ugly very fast.

So unless Hotch called someone asking for assistance, it was best to leave the man alone.

At Morgan's pronouncement, there were reluctant nods of agreement around the table from everyone but Rossi and Emily. Because Emily knew that no matter how outwardly stoic he was, Hotch did in fact talk to Dave quite regularly about his problems. And she too had become a confidante of his over the past few months. And now that he had started talking to her, Emily couldn't quite envision a scenario so bad in which he would just STOP talking to her.

Except . . . the little doubts crept up . . . if he was trying to send a clear message about his intensions.

Basically that he didn't have any.

And as much as that thought saddened her, the rational clear thinking part of her brain reminded her that perhaps he hadn't been in touch simply because it was a very serious matter and he'd just been too busy attending to it, to actually TALK about it.

At that point Emily wasn't sure which scenario was more upsetting. The one where he so badly didn't want to send her a mixed signal that he'd stop sharing with her completely even in a crisis, or the one where whatever was happening to him was so bad that he literally didn't have a moment to spare for a phone call of any kind.

Then she suddenly felt terribly guilty at her small mindedness.

What the hell was she thinking?!

Of course the second scenario was the worst one! And now that all of the variations of the second scenario had started rolling in her head, Emily knew that she was going to be pretty useless for a roundtable analysis of new cases.

Fortunately Dave seemed to sense that nobody was really up for an extended discussion, so after he'd passed out the new files, he dismissed the group.

And after what had happened in the briefing, Emily went back to her desk with the intention of trying to concentrate on work for a little while because at least there she could be productive. They still had that second call with Interpol in a few hours and if that that ended up taking awhile, she wanted to be completely caught up on everything else.

She was relatively successful in working through her piles of paper, but mostly she was just running on autopilot. The back of her brain was constantly swirling around thoughts of Hotch and what could be going on that was so bad that he was off the grid for an entire week.

Perhaps longer.

After all, each time he'd called Dave Hotch had extended his absence. So it sounded like his situation was fluid. And that meant his return date could be extended again.

God, she missed him already and it had only been two days!

But after the Interpol call was done, and she'd spent another an hour and a half of relatively successful report writing, amid simultaneous screen shots of nightmarish scenarios of what could have befallen Hotch running through her head, Emily decided that she needed to do something else or she was going to go crazy.

Really what she had decided . . . after that earlier realization about her small mindedness . . . was that it was time to put aside her personal neuroses and just think about him. It was painfully clear now that whatever was going on couldn't be good. So she needed to figure out what she could do to help him. All of the other stuff didn't matter right now. If he was in the midst of some kind of crisis, and . . . she felt a small stab of guilt . . . he needed her, well that was all that mattered.

So she closed up her last case file, grabbed her jacket, and headed back to Starbucks. She again got her two percent gingerbread latte with no whip, before going over to sit down at the exact same table that she'd sat at the day before.

It had the most privacy.

She took a sip from her cup. The heat from the drink ran down her throat, warming her cold body.

It was a comfort after the bitter cut of the wind.

Once her chills were gone, Emily took out her phone to call Hotch. But suddenly her hand started to clench nervously around the small silver device.

Her stomach was in knots.

It was stupid that she was so nervous. She'd known the man for three years, made out with him like their plane was going down a day and a half ago, and now she was nervous just calling him to do a personal welfare check.

Oh well . . . she scrolled down the list . . . you couldn't control your feelings, you could only control your actions.

She hit the green button.

And then she sat there listening as the phone rang over and over. Suddenly her heart jumped as she heard a click and then, "Emily?"

The voice was faint and echoey . . . but it was also very familiar.

So in return she squeaked, "Hotch?!"

She'd been so convinced that he wouldn't pick up, that she'd almost dropped the phone when he did. But she quickly recovered as she asked frantically, "hey, where are you? Is everything okay?"

There . . . she rubbed her hand across her mouth . . . the two big questions tossed out for unequivocal response.

But . . . she frowned slightly at the extended silence . . . there was no response. She just got more of the echoey sound that she'd heard when he said her name. And then there was static.

Then finally his voice again, but it was all broken up.

". . . lose . . . . . . . tonight . . ."

And the line went dead.

She immediately hit his number again but it bounced right to voicemail. A wave of disappointed hit Emily then. With her big effort at playing good (maybe) girlfriend having crashed and burned, she stared down at the phone.

'Well that sucked!'

It would figure that they actually make contact and the connection was so bad that the call dropped. And what was he trying to say? Well, the first part was probably that he was going to lose the call. But the second part . . . she bit the inside of her cheek . . . 'tonight'? Well, he couldn't have been saying he'd be home tonight because Rossi already said that he was away until Monday. So he had to be talking about a phone call tonight.

It was the only thing that made sense.

Her brow wrinkled . . . okay, but was she supposed to call him? Or was he going to call her?

After another sip of her latte she decided that she was again being stupid. Basically she was acting like she did when she was sixteen. Terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing because then the boy that she liked wouldn't like her anymore. Well, she certainly wasn't sixteen anymore. She was a grown woman trying to have an adult relationship. Obviously Hotch did want to speak to her, (a relief), because if he didn't, then he wouldn't have answered the phone when she called. So it didn't matter who called who tonight.

All that mattered was that they got to talk. So if he didn't call her then she would call him.

And with that thought she grabbed her latte and headed back to the office.

/*/*/*/

Emily sat on her couch drinking her second glass of blackberry wine. She was watching When Harry Met Sally and waiting patiently for her phone to ring.

But the hours had been ticking passed. Now it was after ten thirty, and Hotch still hadn't called. And she wasn't being stubborn about not calling him first. After she'd taken into consideration the timing of his messages to Rossi, she'd figured that whatever was going on, he was tied up until later in the evening. So she didn't want to call him too early and just leave another voicemail.

That would be pointless.

And after that garbled message this afternoon, she was sure that as soon as he was able to call her that he would indeed pick up the phone. But as she watched the minute hand on her watch tick towards the quarter hour, she started to worry that by the time he was free to call, that he'd decide it was again too late to bother her.

As though she'd ever consider talking to him a bother.

But he didn't know her feelings on the subject of personal late night phone calls from him, because they hadn't discussed anything like that yet. So he was just being himself.

Being considerate.

And that was great . . . barring her little mini meltdown earlier about her work voicemail . . . that was one of the things that she loved about him. But she really wanted . . . okay, let's be honest . . . she needed to talk to him tonight. It might be terribly selfish given that she'd now decided that he was dealing with a real problem of some kind, but she was still just twisted up in knots.

And no matter how many times her rational brain told her that the relationship stuff wasn't important right now, she just couldn't help how she felt. Again, she was falling in love.

It had been a long time since that had happened.

And that was kind of a hard thing to just ignore. Even with as much as she was trying to put it aside for the moment, she knew that it was definitely tainting all of her decisions right now. That was what was making her so nutty. That's why she'd suddenly become one of THOSE women.

She was flying blind here and it was driving her completely around the bend.

But she was sure that if she could just talk to him, really talk to him, for a few minutes, then she'd know where they stood.

Where she stood.

And then she'd stop feeling like such a crazy person. Either she'd be elated, or she'd be heartbroken. But at least she would no longer be in this weird fog. And as she watched the minute hand tick up to ten forty-seven she decided that rather than risk losing another day, she'd try calling him. God knew if he'd answer of course, but maybe she'd luck out and catch him.

So she picked up her cell and hit his number.

The phone rang so many times that she was positive it was about to bounce to voicemail. But then she again heard the familiar click, and before he could even speak, she breathed out his name in relief.

"Hotch."

"Hello."

And Emily's throat dried up . . . because that wasn't Hotch.

That was a woman.

A woman with a German accent.

"Hello," the strange German woman answering her maybe boyfriend's cell phone at now 10:49 pm said again, "is anyone there?"

Emily wanted to hang up the phone . . . and she also wanted to throw up.

But not necessarily in that order.

Of all of the horrible scenarios that had been running through her mind earlier, Hotch being with another woman hadn't made it ANYWHERE on the list! But maybe that was why he wasn't calling her until late.

He was having sex with this, this . . . person.

Even though Emily couldn't stop the horrible slide show now suddenly playing in her head, all of the little voices put aside their differences to remind her that Hotch wasn't like that. He wouldn't play with her feelings, make her think that he cared about her, and then take the week off to go off with another woman. That was ridiculous.

It REALLY was!

So there had to be a logical explanation for this woman answering his PRIVATE phone . . . that nobody in the world was allowed to touch . . . late at night, like she had every right in the world to do so. And Emily would just LOVE to hear what that logical explanation was! Her eyes started to burn.

She'd kill to hear that explanation.

So after taking a shallow breath she asked quietly, "may I please speak to Aaron?"

Come on Hotch . . . she whispered to herself . . . come tell me the logical explanation for what's happening. Come tell me so I don't have to go throw up all of this nice wine that I just drank.

The woman paused.

"Um, hold on . . . let me . . ."

And Emily heard the familiar clatter of a phone being put down on the table. Then she sat there, stomach churning as her fingernails dug into her thigh waiting until the woman came back a few moments later.

"I am sorry, he is taking a shower. Can I give him a message?"

Feeling a shock of cold go through her body, Emily shook her head as she answered softly, "no . . . no message," and disconnected the call.

For a moment she just stared down at the phone . . . and then she burst into tears.

A/N 2: That bastard! Oh wait, no, maybe not. Would he really do something like that? But seriously who is the German chick answering his phone at practically midnight?

I know that I had Emily's thoughts all over the place here, but that was rather the point. As hard as she's trying, she just can't get her head on straight. So she was uber stressed by the end, and the German chick was pretty much the last straw. Though if some strange woman answers your maybe boyfriend's phone at midnight and tells you he's in the shower, you'd probably be pretty upset too.

I promise that Hotch will turn up for a full appearance in the next chapter. But you know feel free to speculate about what's going on with him ;) Everyone on the team has an opinion, you must too.