Author's Note: Again picking up immediately from the last scene.

The Other Side of the Glass

As they slowly climbed the staircase, Hotch noted absentmindedly how nice the architecture of the building was. He was sure that the neighbors would be telling their friends and family that things like this didn't happen here. But Hotch could tell them that things like this happened everywhere. Neither your income bracket, nor your zip code, provided any protection from men like Edward Lipsky.

Hell . . . he flashed on the standard issue sidearm Agent Hsu would have been carrying . . . even a handgun didn't necessarily do anything for you. Because if your assailant was motivated enough . . . you were dead.

With that unsettling reminder, Hotch felt a little jolt in his heart. And as they turned onto the first landing, he let go of Emily's hand to slide his arm around her waist again. He hoped that she wouldn't mind him taking the liberty, but he felt more in control knowing that she was right with him. Of course that control was little more than an illusion, but still, after everything that had already happened, his nerves were pretty shot, and keeping her close made him feel better.

Hopefully it did her as well.

Emily bit her lip as she felt Hotch pull her against his side. She was surprised at how physically demonstrative he was being.

Though it wasn't at all unwelcome . . . she reached up to lightly squeeze his fingers . . . it was slightly uncharacteristic. Not that Hotch was cold or uncaring, quite the opposite actually. Although his intensity could be a little off putting at first, once you got to know him, you could see that he was in fact a very warm, kind, man. But he did generally keep a certain physical distance from other people.

Especially women.

A large part of it was his strict professionalism, but he was like that on duty as well as off. If they were in a bar and they'd had a few, Morgan and Rossi would put their arm around her waist.

Hotch didn't do that.

Ever.

On the rare occasion that he got a little tipsy, he might be more inclined to get her attention by touching her arm, but he was not inclined to do what he was doing tonight.

A wave of emotion came rising up and her eyes started to sting again . . . it was really nice though. She'd known that Hotch cared about her, but knowing, that in order to support her, he was willing to move beyond his own personal boundaries, that meant a lot to her.

That he would do that for her.

It certainly made her feel less awkward about her own slips in control tonight. Because right now, for the first time that she could recall, he wasn't being Super Hotch. The invincible, unrattleable, Special Agent-in-Charge. He was just being, well, Aaron probably.

This . . . she felt the warmth of his body pressed next to hers . . . was probably the man that Haley had known.

Emily wouldn't mind getting to know this man better.

Just then, they stepped off the stairs and onto the familiar forest green carpeting that ran the length of the second floor. There were two apartments on each level, one to the left of the staircase, and one to the right.

Kelly's was to the right.

Now that they were closer Emily could hear the familiar background noise of an active crime scene. It had been the same at her apartment. Police radios, always police radios.

Her nerves started to stretch thin again.

This was it.

They turned the corner and Emily stopped short as she sucked in her breath.

Oh shit.

Hotch's fingers dug slightly into her side. Though she'd thought that she'd mentally prepared herself, apparently there wasn't really any full mental preparation for this moment. Because five feet ahead of them was crime scene tape, and just outside the open door beyond it, Emily could see the orderlies were unfolding the black bag.

They were getting ready to move Kelly.

Though she'd known downstairs that they were here, THIS she had not prepared herself for. When she had asked Hotch if they could come here, she'd just wanted to see the scene. To see where Kelly had died to look for evidence that might help them catch Lipsky. And although she'd known that there was a possibility that Kelly would still be there, most likely she would have been covered up.

Emily could have avoided seeing her.

But now she was walking into the moment. The moment where Kelly Amanda Hsu, would cease to be a human being, and would be reduced to just a body.

The woman who . . . when they were twenty-five . . . had laughed until she'd cried when Emily had shown up for Friday night clubbing with that God awful perm. The woman who at thirty-two, had held Emily's hand at her grandfather's funeral. The woman who had spent the last fifteen years loving Hawaiian pizza, George Clooney, Yuengling beer, and cheesy action movies from the eighties. That woman . . . Emily's eyes started to burn as the grief washed over her again . . . that woman was gone.

Replaced now by this lifeless, cooling body, less than ten feet away.

Hearing Emily bite back a moan, Hotch winced in sympathy as he quickly turned to move her back against the wall. Again he put the cage by their feet, and again he got right into Emily's space. This time he placed his hand flat on the plaster next to her head, blocking her view down to the apartment.

He could see that her eyes were glistening as they danced around in a near panic.

"Hotch . . . please . . . I . . ."

Emily tried to get the words out. But, just as before, he already seemed to know what she wanted to say.

His hand came up to brush away the tear that she'd felt spill over and run down her cheek.

"Don't look," he whispered, "you don't want to remember her that way."

For a moment he berated himself thinking that they should have waited downstairs until this part was done. But then he remembered that there was a larger crowd down there. This would have been just as difficult for her in the lobby, and there they would have had an audience.

Up here at least nobody was paying them much attention.

Hearing the voices announcing that they were about to take the body out, Hotch slid the cage back flat against the wall with his foot as he moved another inch closer to Emily's body. Once again, that mixture of scents threatened to overwhelm his careful control. But this time it was okay. Because this time he needed to distract her. So he let his hand fall where it had wanted to earlier.

Onto her hip.

At his touch, their gazes locked. Emily's tears were still hovering, and her breath was starting to come in small pants. He felt a pang in his chest.

She was terrified.

"Just look at me, Emily," he ordered softly, "you don't look anywhere but at my face until I tell you to, okay?"

Her head jerked down once as her teeth sunk into her lower lip. The action caused another ache in his heart, even while he cursed his inability to do anything useful for her! Intellectually of course he knew that this moment was going to be hell no matter what he did.

But that didn't make him feel any better.

When he heard the movement begin down the hall . . . they had started to move the body . . . Hotch began talking to get her mind off the noise.

"Tell me how you met Agen . . . Kelly. Tell me about when you met Kelly. It was a long time ago, right?"

They were old friends, that much he knew. The two of them went to lunch a few times a month, so Hotch would often see Agent Hsu up in the bullpen. After three years of visits, he had known her well enough for his 'Passing Hellos' to now involve a two to three minute catch up. He had liked her. She was nice. Funny.

It was obvious why she and Emily would be friends.

Emily swallowed, grateful for the distraction from Hotch.

"Um, yeah," she whispered, "we met first day in the Academy. We were roommates. Her dad was Navy and her family had traveled around when she was a kid too, so we hit it off right away. We've been friends ever since. And we were both so happy when we finally got stationed at the Academy at the sa . . ."

Her words were cut off as they heard the announcement to clear a hole. Emily's fingers dug into Hotch's suit jacket as she bit down hard on her lip.

Oh God, please, just get it done!

Hotch took another step closer. His body was now pressed firmly against hers, and he knew that they looked like lovers in a clinch. But that didn't matter.

Not here.

When the gurney finally began its journey down the hall, that's when Hotch told Emily to close her eyes. A few seconds later he heard the ME's assistant tell the orderly that they needed another bag.

They had leakage.

Hearing that, another tear rolled out from under Emily's closed lid as she tipped her head forward. It landed on Hotch's chest.

As the worst moments of her life went, this was taking its place in the top five. She'd almost rather be back in the compound and having Cyrus kick the shit out of her. Actually she would prefer that. Because in that moment when Emily was being tortured, Kelly was still alive. Another tear slid down her face.

And she'd gladly get her ribs kicked in every day of the week if it meant her friend would live.

Hotch bit back a torrent of profanity as he listened to the men talking behind them. He wanted to tell them to just get the fuck out of there. To deal with it downstairs.

But he kept his tongue because he knew that it wasn't their fault. They were just doing their jobs. They didn't know who Emily was, that she didn't need to hear this. Ordinarily family and friends weren't allowed within a mile of an active crime scene. And that was because of these things.

These horribly insensitive cruelties, that nobody should have to associate with a loved one.

But Emily was here now. So he just gently rubbed her side until they were done fixing the bags.

Two agonizingly long minutes.

But finally they moved away. And Hotch turned his head, watching as they turned the corner.

Thank Christ!

So he leaned down to whisper in Emily's ear, "they're gone."

She slowly lifted her head and wiped her hand across her face.

"Being on this side of the glass really sucks," she said sadly.

The glass was that of the autopsy room . . . she was now on the viewing side.

His expression softened further.

"I know Emily," he bit his lip, "I know. But we'll be gone soon."

Given where they were and what was going on around them, he couldn't believe that she was still as well composed as she was. He felt a surge of respect and pride, because her reserves of strength were astounding.

Emily nodded before she turned her head, now shifting her gaze down the hall to the open apartment door.

There were still police and technicians coming in and out. And looking at them . . . so professional and detached . . . Emily suddenly realized that the detectives would most likely have a serious problem with her teary eyed presence. She looked back up at Hotch.

"Maybe you should go down first just to make this looks more like a professional inquiry rather than a uh," she cleared her throat as she sniffled again, "condolence call."

It was a little bit of both actually.

But Hotch was already shaking his head before she finished talking.

"I'm not leaving you alone. Not here. They'll want your input. Even if they don't let us inside they won't turn us away."

Emily's jaw twitched slightly as she considered his words, and then she impulsively reached out to slide her fingers back into his . . . he immediately gave them a squeeze.

Funny, never once had she held Aaron Hotchner's hand before tonight, but now it was like a security blanket that she couldn't put down. A small part of her worried that she would grow too dependent on it.

Him.

That she was growing dependent on him.

Because it wasn't like hand holding was an option at work. What was she going to do tomorrow when the grief rose up again, and she started to have a panic attack thinking about what had happened to Kelly? What could have happened to Daisy. What could still happen to her.

What would she do then? How would she cope?

'Never mind that,' she chastised herself, 'just deal with right now.'

Right . . . she took a deep breath and let it out slowly . . . just deal with now. That was more than enough. An expression of her grandmother's suddenly came to her.

Just deal with today, tomorrow will deal with itself.

With the wisdom of that thought forefront in her mind, Emily pushed all the other 'What Ifs' out of her head. Then she stiffened her spine, trying to prepare herself for what she would be seeing in a moment.

The place where Kelly died.

With it now time for them to move down the hallway, Hotch reached down to pick up Daisy's carrier. That's when he noticed that her shaking had gotten much worse. But of course she'd probably been about as happy as Emily to have Kelly's dead body moving that close to them.

The smell of the blood had probably been a trigger for her.

Not that there was anything else to do be done for the cat right now. Once they'd gotten out of the hospital and back to his place, then Daisy and Emily could reconnect. For now, with Emily clutching his hand tightly, Hotch just started walking them the rest of the way down the hallway. And he could tell from the way that Emily was otherwise carrying herself, that she'd slipped her professional persona back on again.

It was armor.

And given that both of his hands were full . . . with Emily and Daisy respectively . . . she was the one slipping out her badge as they approached the uniformed officers at the door.

"Excuse me," she said while holding her credentials out for the female officer, "could we please see the detective in charge here? We have information relevant to the case."

God did they ever. And she was ridiculously proud of herself for getting through those two sentences without a quiver in her voice. Then she realized how pathetic it was that she was proud of such a minor accomplishment.

It was even more pathetic that she actually thought it was an accomplishment.

As the officer disappeared inside the apartment, Emily heard Hotch whisper in her ear, "you're doing just fine Prentiss."

His praise brought a prickle of tears to her eyes. But she blinked them back.

Prentiss.

He was calling her Prentiss again to show that he knew that she was trying to distance herself from the moment. God did he know her well.

While they stood there in the hallway waiting, Hotch began running his thumb along Emily's hand, trying to keep her calm. After another minute, the female uniform returned accompanied by a middle aged African American man with a dark complexion, a goatee, and closely cropped hair. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and latex gloves spotted with what appeared to be fresh blood.

He looked them over warily.

"I'm Detective Durant. And you are?"

Hotch debated for a moment if he should let go of Emily or the cat, and then Emily made the choice for him as she slipped her hand out of his.

He assumed that she was trying to not appear too soft, but by her silence at the detective's question it was clear that she wanted him to take point. So with his now free hand, Hotch slipped his own badge out and held it up.

"FBI, Agent Hotchner," he tipped his head over to Emily, "Agent Prentiss."

Seeing the detective's eyes brighten in recognition of their names, Hotch figured that he'd been apprised of the earlier events. So he continued talking going on that assumption.

"As you've probably been informed by now, we believe that Agent Hsu was abducted from Agent Prentiss' home earlier tonight. Probably sometime between five and seven. I'm not sure what the crime scene unit will come up with for typing but there was . . ."

Then he stopped suddenly when he remembered that he hadn't told Emily yet about the blood on the couch.

Shit!

So rather than continuing to direct his remarks to the detective, Hotch turned to Emily instead, placing his hand on her shoulder as he said gently, "the couch cushions were soaked in blood."

At the splash of horror on her face, Hotch hated himself for sharing that news with her here. That wasn't something that she should have learned in front of strangers. He should have told her in the car so she would have had time to process it.

Good job Aaron . . . he thought bitterly . . . why don't you make this even harder for her?!

Unfortunately there was nothing he could do about his fuck up now. The damage was done. All he could do to comfort her in that moment was to take her fingers again. He gave them a light squeeze.

Then his attention shifted back to the, (impatiently), waiting detective.

"Therefore," his voice hardened as he once more directed his remarks only to Detective Durant, "based on the amount of blood I found at the other location, the logical assumption is that Agent Hsu was severely injured during her abduction and then killed after she was brought here."

Durant tipped his head.

"Based on the evidence at hand," he responded slowly, "that does seem to be the logical assumption."

Hotch could tell the other man was hesitant to discuss the full details of the case with them. Of course he could understand that. They were outsiders, and if nothing else Durant was probably concerned about them claiming federal jurisdiction over his murder scene. But Hotch didn't care anything about taking control of the investigation. His only concerns here were how things related back to Emily.

So there was a touch of worry in his tone as he asked, "the APB on the suspect, Lipsky, do you have any update on that?"

What with Lipsky was a continuing threat to Emily, that was really the most important thing. But this was an unusual situation for Hotch, because he wasn't accustomed to being totally locked out of a case, and. he wasn't in a position to ask to take point.

He wasn't even really in a position to offer much in the way of insight.

Yes, they could give general stalker statistics during this conversation, but they wouldn't be coming along for the whole investigative process. Not that it would be necessary anyway. This wasn't an UNSUB situation. They had a subject. One with a name, a face, and an address.

Somebody just had to find the son of a bitch.

Durant stared at them for a moment, clearly sizing them up. Trying to decide how much he was willing to share. Finally he seemed to make his decision, because his professional mask slipped and the exhaustion became evident on his face. He shook his head.

"No," he let out a heavy sigh as he snapped off his gloves, "no, we've checked his home, but of course he was long gone. Still, we left a car there and one back at Agent Prentiss.' We've also put out an APB in Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, and The District. If he's anywhere on the road, hopefully somebody should spot him soon."

His gaze shifted to Emily.

"Apparently there's a um," he cleared his throat, "well, there are some pictures of you on his living room wall." He looked over to Hotch, "you as well."

At their twin looks of alarm, he pulled out his phone and started pulling them up.

"They're a bit unnerving," he murmured apologetically while holding out his phone.

So Hotch, with his sense of dread rising, put the cage on the ground and took the device from the other man's hand. This time there had been no question about letting go of Emily or the cat.

It was Emily all the way.

So while holding up the phone for her to see as well, Hotch started scrolling through the pictures that had been taken at Lipsky's apartment. There were dozens of them.

Jesus Christ!

Rage and horror began fighting his brain for dominance because Lipsky had definitely been in Emily's home before.

There were a whole row of photos on his wall that showed her sleeping.

And feeling Emily's body start to shake beside him, Hotch's tightened his grasp on her fingers while he shot her a look. Her eyes were watering again as she stared back at him in horror.

He immediately let go of her hand to slip his arm around her shoulders instead.

All he wanted to do was get her out of there, to get her home, but they needed to know what they were dealing with, and as he looked back at the phone and flipped to the next set of photos, he saw that what they were dealing with was a SEVERELY disturbed mind.

Because this row were all long range photos.

They were pictures that had been taken of Emily with three different men. Him, her father, and a man that Hotch knew was her cousin. All three of them had bulls' eyes drawn on them, but most of those bulls' eyes were on him. And these photos were all taken through the blinds of her living room window.

Emily lived on the eighth floor.

Sometimes she had him over for dinner after work. Not every week, but since the fall she'd coaxed him over probably at least three times a month. And it appeared . . . based on the number of outfits Hotch was seeing on Emily . . . that Lipsky had been present for EVERY meal since Christmas.

Christ.

If Hotch ever got his hands on this guy there was no way he was going to live to trial. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him . . . his head snapped up.

"Has anyone checked the apartment buildings across from Agent Prentiss? She lives on the eighth floor, and these photos all look to have been taken at a slight downward angle. Maybe from the ninth or tenth floor."

Detective Durant nodded as he took his phone back.

"Yeah, units just started canvassing both buildings across from Agent Prentiss.' Of course," he rolled his eyes as he continued bitterly, "Lipsky wasn't helpful enough to rent an apartment in his own name, so we're starting with the empty rentals on the higher floors and going from there. But they're flashing his photo all over. Somebody had to have seen him because clearly," he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he gave Hotch a knowing look, "he's been spending a lot of time over there."

Hotch's jaw twitched before he bit out a clipped.

"Yes, clearly he has."

Seeing those pictures had spiked his rage over this whole cluster of a situation. And as a result . . . for just a moment . . . he'd wanted to pound the detective's face into the wall for the clear insinuations about his relationship with Emily.

But then he realized that he hadn't really meant anything by it.

Durant didn't know that he was her boss. As far as he was concerned . . . as he'd most likely concluded from the photographs of him in her home and the body language tonight . . . they were just a couple who happened to work together. And Hotch really could care less what his conclusions were on that front, so he didn't bother to clarify the particulars of their relationship. On the list of things that mattered to him . . . he let out a slow breath . . . that one had fallen completely off the page.

It was taking every bit of Emily's self control not to break down as the full scope of what they were dealing with suddenly hit her. As it was, her only grip on sanity was coming from Hotch. Feeling the strength in his touch was keeping her grounded.

She still wanted to throw up though.

Because Lipsky HAD been in her bedroom while she was sleeping! That hadn't just been an awful speculation. Christ, she didn't see how she'd ever be able to sleep in that room again. Not to mention the pictures that he'd been taking of her through the window. Her alone, her and Hotch, her and her dad . . . her and her cousin Rick. Rick had come over one Saturday last month to fix her garbage disposal.

Now she needed to call him, to make sure that he knew to lock his doors.

"I'll need some information from you Agent. I'd like to run down your encounters with Lipsky so far."

Emily jumped slightly at the detective's words, before giving him a sharp nod.

"Right," she cleared her throat as she tried to move beyond the horror of those photos and back to some semblance of professionalism, "of course. Um," she shifted closer to Hotch, "before that though, could I please see where Kelly, uh . . ."

Her voice started to catch and she stopped to take a breath. But before she could finish the question the detective was shaking his head.

"No," he said gently, "no, I don't think that would be a very good idea. There's nothing to see that would be . . . well, there's nothing in there that I think you would want to see."

Hearing that pronouncement, Hotch winced before he looked over at Emily. She was biting her lip . . . clearly trying not to cry. But that was understandable, because if the detective didn't want her in there even the though the body was gone, that meant it had been a bloodbath. And Hotch sure as hell didn't want her seeing that either, but that didn't mean that they couldn't learn something from the scene.

But then suddenly he remembered again . . . they already knew who did this. And if it was that much of a mess in there, then clearly he was spiraling out of control. Still though, Hotch would like to see JUST how far gone he was, so he could gauge what could be potentially coming through the front door. So he looked up at the detective.

"While you take Agent Prentiss' statement, would it be possible for me to go in and just do a quick walk through of the scene?"

Seeing the wariness on the other man's face, Hotch explained his reasoning.

"We do psychological profiling in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. That's why we came here. We had information for you but also, I . . ." he shot Emily a look as he amended, "we'd, like to see if there's anything to be learned from the scene that might not be immediately obvious from the physical evidence alone."

As to whether Hotch would be allowed inside would depend on how open the detective was to the science of behavioral profiling. It had been his experience on the LEO front, that these things could go either way.

Durant twisted his jaw for a moment before he nodded, "sure, okay. I don't see the harm." Then he shrugged, "every little bit helps, right."

Hotch let out a breath as he nodded, "right."

It wasn't a ringing endorsement of his chosen profession, but Durant was at least going to give him a chance to look around.

All he needed was two minutes.

So he turned back to Emily.

"You stay RIGHT here," he gave an emphatic squeeze of her hand, "inside the yellow tape, okay?"

Given the photos that they'd just seen he didn't want to leave her for even a minute, but this was too important an opportunity to pass up. And this doorway was about the only place in the world that Hotch could guarantee Lipsky wasn't at in this exact moment in time.

Emily nodded as she answered softly, "okay."

Though she knew that she was safe where they were, still, the last thing she wanted was for Hotch to leave her alone. But it wasn't just because of the sense of safety that she was getting from him.

It was that his presence was helping her to keep her control.

Still, she knew that what he'd said to the detective was correct . . . she reluctantly let go of his hand . . . one of them needed to go in there to see what had happened to Kelly.

That was the whole reason that they had come here.

For a moment though Hotch continued to grasp her fingers as he looked at her so intensely that she thought he was going to say something else. But instead he suddenly dropped her hand and pushed the cage over to her.

He disappeared through the doorway without another word.

She looked after him for a moment before she finally turned to face the detective. Then she took a breath to calm her nerves.

It was time to play victim again.

"Where would you like for me to start?"

A/N 2: Yes, Hotch was pretty touchy here, but I see him as being a person who, once he allows the softer Aaron part of himself to come out to someone he cares about, having a hard time pulling that Hotch persona on again. Like in canon, he's generally more relaxed when it's just him and Rossi by themselves, even when they're working. And I see that as being because Rossi calls him Aaron so it kind of keeps that part of him accessible. So here, now that he's decided that he needs to be more approachable so that Emily won't go through what she did when Matthew died, that it would be hard for him to shift back and forth between that softness and accessibility and the detachment of being Hotch. He can only be one man at a time, and for now he's decided to be Aaron for her.

As to them regularly having dinner even if they weren't involved, I was sort of working in the canon from the season 5 opener when Emily strolled up to his apartment door like she'd been there a hundred times before, and then saying later that nothing looked out of place. You would only know if something was out of place if you were FAMILIAR with the place. And with this being a story that, as much as possible, I'm trying to kind of incorporate canon to this point in time, it stands to reason that they were spending a decent amount of personal time in each other's homes. So a few dinners a month made sense as a starting point for their off duty relationship.

Not so much with the continuous suspense here but that's not really sustainable unless we're going for a full on constant peril/jeopardy thing. If you're looking for that you can get it over in The Snake Pit, a story that covers a MUCH shorter period of time. This is going to go on for extended days, perhaps weeks, so they won't all be cliff hangery. Still though, hopefully you enjoyed it :)