Author's Note: This picks up from the end of the last one, except now we're in Hotch's head.
Prompt Set #16
Show: Fringe
Title Challenge: Dream Logic
Spongebob, Cheesy Toast and Security Blankets
Feeling Emily sigh against his chest, for the first time all night, Hotch actually felt like he was doing something useful. He was finally providing some real comfort to her.
So despite the hour . . . and the belief that she needed rest . . . he stood in the middle of his living room just holding her, and trying his damndest to be what she needed him to be.
The minutes slowly ticked by, but then finally Emily lifted her head. When she looked up at him, he saw that though her eyes were still wet, the tears had stopped.
"Thank you," she whispered as she let go of him and took a half a step back, "thank you for that."
Being with Hotch that way, it the first time in hours that she hadn't felt like she was standing on quicksand.
When Emily moved to step away from him completely, Hotch caught her hand.
"Whatever you need," he said softly, "whatever happens, I'll be here for you. You remember that you can always come to me, okay?"
This was all new, this openness, trying to express himself with Emily in a way that he had only ever really tried before with Haley. And with Haley he had tried . . . and he had failed.
Then he'd just stopped trying.
But it was his fervent hope of having a different outcome to his efforts at building trust and openness with this woman in front of him, than the one who had left him.
Still though, he knew going into this, that at times he was going to slip up and try to keep Emily out. That wasn't something that he wanted to happen, but he knew that it was something that would happen. There had just been too many years of him living his life a certain way for all of that to change completely simply because he snapped his fingers. But now that he had opened this door with Emily, Hotch wanted her to have no misunderstandings about what he would do for her.
Anything.
He would do anything for her. Putting his life on the line had never been in question, but the situation with the Vatican had also shown him that, if it came down it . . . though his career was his life . . . he would put his job on the line for her as well. And if he ever got his hands on Lipsky, Hotch also knew that he wouldn't hesitate to kill for her. In his world those were the big three.
Die for, kill for . . . ruin your career for.
To his mind . . . with the exception of his son who took precedence over all else . . . there was nothing else that really mattered in life.
At Hotch's declaration, Emily's expression softened and her eyes began to burn again. As hard as she was trying to be strong and independent, this side of him was impossible to resist.
He was going to break her.
So holding Hotch's gaze steady, Emily stepped back over to him, and then she leaned up to slip her arms around his neck. He once again wrapped her up in his embrace and held her close. But this time as she felt the hard muscles of his body pressed against hers, a warmth began to pool in her belly. She sucked in her breath.
In that instant all she wanted was for him to take her to bed.
All other considerations about their relationship, or possible consequences to such an action, were wiped from her brain. Her need for him was so strong that she went to whisper the request in his ear before the moment was lost.
But just as she opened her mouth, Emily suddenly realized that she was confusing her desire for him to comfort her, with simple desire.
Yes, it would make her feel better for tonight. But it wouldn't fix the nightmare that they had found themselves living in. It would just make things far more complicated in the morning. And Hotch was much too important to her to make such a colossal mistake.
Especially given what he'd done so far for her tonight.
This was a man that she'd started to have feelings for months ago. And tonight . . . finally . . . he'd agreed to knock down the remaining walls between them. So if in her grief, she made a move that they weren't ready for, then she could easily destroy this fragile trust.
And with that thought . . . she reluctantly pulled away from him again. But then she looked up, their eyes locked, and she could see the hard glitter there.
Her breath caught.
That's when she realized that she wasn't the only one feeling what she was feeling in that moment. And for a second she wanted to reconsider her decision. Because when he was holding her, she felt warm and safe.
Making love to him could only intensify those sensations.
Still though, as she saw him bite down on his lip . . . letting her decide . . . she reminded herself that this just wasn't the right time for them to take such a monumental step.
And she knew that he knew that too.
Whatever it was that had been building between them, it had been slow, and gradual, and had become very dear to them. And she wouldn't lose all of those months of bonding for a few hours of bliss. Because though it was possible sex might make their bond stronger, she also knew that it might set them back. Make things awkward.
More difficult.
And she wasn't willing to risk that outcome. Especially now when his support was so vital to her continued mental and physical well being.
So with a watery smile and a quick peck on his cheek, she reluctantly closed the door on that line of thought. It was one that she could come back to some other day.
Maybe even tomorrow.
As Emily leaned back, Hotch felt a conflicting wave of relief and regret.
Not that he hadn't known those feelings of desire were completely out of place right now . . . of course he did . . . but he also couldn't deny how his body had suddenly reacted to hers. But he knew that for them to act on any physical urges would have been a terrible mistake.
Even if she had been the initiator, he knew that on some level he would have been taking advantage of her grief. And that . . . he brushed a strand of hair back from her face . . . was not something that he could do.
So he pushed those baser urges aside, focusing in instead on the purer elements of his affection for her.
His fingers ghosted along her jaw as he said softly, "it's getting late. You go change for bed while I make you something to eat."
Seeing her about to protest, Hotch shook his head.
"I know that you probably aren't hungry, but you should still try to eat something so you don't get sick, okay?"
He'd seen her eat a muffin on the plane, but that was almost ten hours ago. And given what they'd be facing over the coming days, she needed to keep her strength up.
Hearing the worry in Hotch's tone, there was no way that Emily could deny him this small request. Not after everything that he'd done for her tonight.
Her eyes crinkled slightly as she nodded her assent.
"Okay, but I'm really not very hungry so maybe," her brow went up, "just some tea and crackers, okay?"
Even though it was her body, Emily wanted to make sure that the intake of food would be acceptable to make him stop worrying.
A faint smile touched Hotch's lips before he huffed.
"Yes, that's okay. I wasn't going to suggest a three course meal. I just want you to eat something."
And with that he turned away to pick up her new clothes and the bag of toiletries off the coffee table. When he turned back she was just looking at him.
He put his hand on her shoulder to begin guiding her back down the hall to the guest room.
The sooner he got her settled, the sooner he could make her snack and the sooner they could both go to sleep. Though Hotch wasn't sure how well he was going to sleep with Lipsky on the loose, as long as the cruiser was out front, he was willing to give it a shot.
When they stepped inside the spare room, Hotch put the blue bag and the clothes down on the bed.
"Please excuse the SpongeBob sheets," he said apologetically, "it's Jack's room on the weekends, but we can change them tomorrow."
It was a bit late to get into any of that tonight.
Emily looked down at the happy yellow sponge on the comforter, and for the first time all night a genuinely happy smile passed her lips.
Her eyes crinkled as she looked up at Hotch.
"I like them. If it's okay I'd like to just keep them on the bed."
It was something silly and cheerful to offset the nightmare she was living right now.
Hotch looked down at the bed and then back up at her as he nodded.
"Sure, whatever you want," then his lip quirked up slightly, "and if we need to change the sheets I have a pair of Shrek ones that we can put on."
Emily smiled softly.
"I like Shrek."
Though she didn't advertise it around the office, she did have a small collection of children's movies in her DVD collection. Again, she found their silly cheerfulness was a good anecdote to the horrors of the job.
Hotch squeezed her hand as he said quietly, "me too."
Sometimes he put Jack's movies on even when he wasn't there. They were a pleasant background noise that reminded him of his son.
And his son adored the big green ogre.
With a sigh, Hotch let go of Emily's hand and turned to leave the room. As he started down the hall he heard her behind him, rifling in the plastic bag. Then she called out wearily.
"Crap. Hotch I forgot to buy pajamas."
He stopped short in the middle of the hallway . . . shit. He knew there was something they were going to forget.
After he'd spun back around, Hotch poked his head into the guest room to see Emily looking up at him in clear dismay.
His brow wrinkled in sympathy.
Given how small this problem actually was, he knew the level of upset she was experiencing over her lack of sleepwear, had just become the last straw for the day. It was well after midnight though, so it was to be expected that she was going to reach her saturation point eventually.
So he quickly moved to smooth things over, before forgotten pajamas resulted in tears.
"It's not a problem, Emily," he soothed, "I can give you something of mine to wear, okay?"
It wasn't until after she'd taken a breath and nodded before he headed over to his own room a few feet down the hall. There he went in to go over and open one of the lower drawers in his dresser.
Hotch's jaw twisted back and forth as he looked at what was in there.
Certainly no women's clothes. But he'd thought he had some flannel pajama pants that had shrunk in the dryer. At first he'd planned to toss them out, but there was nothing really wrong with them, so he'd decided to drop them in one of those goodwill boxes outside the supermarket. But . . . he started digging around in the back of the drawer . . . he just kept forgetting.
That turned out to be fortunate tonight though, because as he yanked them out of the drawer he saw that they'd definitely shrunk down at least one size.
Emily would have to roll them up but they wouldn't fall off her.
After he had the pants, Hotch went into the next drawer up and got an old FBI t-shirt. He had three or four of them but the one he picked was the most worn out, so he figured it would be the most comfortable. And now that his hands were full of emergency sleepwear, he knocked the drawer shut with his hip. Then he headed back across the hall and put the pajamas down next to Emily.
She was sitting on the comforter rubbing her hand across her mouth.
"There you go," his lip quirked up as he gestured to the clothes beside her, "crisis averted. Just let me know if you need anything else."
Of course pajamas and socks were about the only clothes that he could let Emily borrow without her looking like Annie Hall.
"Thanks," she sighed as she brushed her fingers over the soft cotton of the t-shirt. Then she looked up at him, "I promise not to spill anything on them."
It was stupid but for some reason three minutes ago forgetting to buy pajamas had seemed like a really big deal. Obviously her ability to differentiate . . . and handle . . . crises big and small was somewhat compromised at the moment.
She just wanted this horrible day to be over.
Hotch's eyebrow went up as he responded drolly, "yes, because that was my biggest concern at the moment. You spilling something on my pajamas."
It wasn't until after the words had left his mouth, that Hotch realized his attempt at a bit of levity to lighten her mood might have been a bit insensitive. Though they dealt with murders every day of the week, usually the deaths didn't strike so close to home.
But to his relief . . . rather than getting upset with him . . . he saw Emily's lips twitch for a moment, and he knew that she'd seen he was just trying to cheer her up.
Thank God.
He would have felt terrible if she'd thought that he was belittling her pain.
Even under the circumstances, Emily still felt a glimmer of amusement at Hotch's remark. But unfortunately that brief respite from her sadness faded quickly as she sobered again. Still though, for just that moment he'd made her feel better. So she reached over to pat his arm as she said softly, "you're being really sweet tonight."
Seeing the slight bit of pink tinge Hotch's cheeks at her praise, Emily gave him a sad smile.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just wanted you to know that . . ."
And she paused as she tried to decide how much she wanted to say at that moment. And then tears pricked her eyes as she remembered all of the things that she would never get to say to Kelly. Even given the dangerous nature of her work, so much of her life she'd spent believing that there would always be time to tell people how she felt about them.
But as was evidenced tonight . . . eventually time ran out.
So Emily steeled her courage as her hand slid down Hotch's arm to take his hand.
"I really like this side of you," she said softly while giving his fingers a squeeze, "thank you for sharing it with me."
It was like having her own private Hotch. Not only did she have the face that he showed to the world . . . a face that she'd grown quite fond of . . . but tonight she'd begun to get all of these softer bits. The little pieces of himself that previously she'd only seen glimpses of, now they were becoming open to her. It felt like she was being given a special gift, and she just wanted him to know that she appreciated it.
How much she appreciated him.
Hotch bit his lip as he stared down at Emily.
He was starting to see (hope) that perhaps he wasn't the only one whose feelings had become conflicted over the past few months. And in that moment there were so many things that he wanted to say to her.
But he wasn't ready.
His feelings were still too jumbled to even consider broaching such a conversation.
That was his decision, but then he saw the uncertainty on Emily's face, and he realized that she'd already made a different decision for them.
She was starting a conversation now.
Whether or not it was the same one that he wanted to eventually have, wasn't yet clear. But what was clear, was that what she'd said to him wasn't a casual comment for her. Though Emily had always been more expressive with her feelings than he was, he could see that one had actually taken something from her.
And that's when he remembered his promise to be as open with her as she was with him. Which meant that even if it made him uncomfortable, he needed to now extend himself in return. He needed to say something.
Something to make them even again.
He took a breath . . . crap. When he'd made that promise, he hadn't truly understood how hard it was going to be. For years he'd been bottling up his emotions, repressing every spontaneous impulse he had.
Changing all of that for Emily was going to be much more difficult than he had thought.
But . . . he slowly exhaled . . . a promise was a promise. And keeping that promise was the only way that he was going to preserve their relationship.
Or ever let it become more.
So he squeezed her hand as he whispered back, "I would only do these things for you." A shadow of a smile touched his lips, "you're my favorite."
There. That had to have made them even again. Because that DEFINITELY wasn't something that he wouldn't have said to her yesterday! That was something that he'd been keeping to himself for months.
It was something that he probably would have continued to keep to himself for awhile yet.
And he was a little nervous about her reaction.
But then he saw Emily's eyes widen in surprise right before her face lit up . . . it was the only spark of genuine happiness that he'd seen in her since they gotten off the plane all those hours ago.
And seeing that bit of light on her face again, he was suddenly infinitely grateful that he'd said what he had.
Then . . . before he even knew what was happening . . . she'd tugged him down and pressed her lips to his.
It was just a quick kiss . . . he wasn't even sure if it was intended to be a romantic kiss . . . but for just a moment, all of the horrors of the day were washed away.
And he was happy.
After she'd broken the kiss, Emily brought her hand up to rub her thumb over Hotch's lips. Then she whispered back, "you're my favorite too."
As her hand stilled on his jaw, they just stared at one another.
To Emily's surprise, those feelings that she'd had earlier when Hotch was holding her . . . warmth, companionship, safety . . . looking into his eyes now, they had come back to her again.
That's when she realized that it wasn't the physical connection that had triggered them earlier, it was the emotional one. And she very much wanted to kiss him again . . . kiss him for real . . . but she was afraid that action would lead them back down the path they weren't ready to walk.
Sex was still a whole other ballgame.
So instead of making things messy, she reluctantly let her hand fall away from his face. But to her surprise Hotch caught her fingers, kissing them quickly, before he released them with a soft smile.
"I'll go make your tea."
And he disappeared through the doorway.
For a moment Emily stared after him, unexpectedly feeling the loss of him leaving her, as though it was something physically taken from her body.
That little bit of happiness that she'd felt when he had told her how much he cared about her, it was again crushed by the reality of her current situation. And the emotional depth of her reaction to his departure clearly indicated that she was becoming too dependent on him. But that in and of itself didn't concern her as much as it had earlier in the night. She'd come to see that she could lean on him without losing her sense of self in the process.
Her eyes started to burn again.
Hotch was providing her comfort, helping her cope . . . she ran her fingers over the soft t-shirt next to her . . . taking care of her. What would she be doing right now if she didn't have him in her life?
Most likely she'd be in a hotel somewhere in the District, terrified and alone.
Instead . . . she began unbuttoning her blouse . . . she was here in this warm, safe, place. If she had the opportunity to wipe this night from her memory the developments with Hotch were the only things about this day that she'd choose to remember.
So maybe . . . she slowly slipped on Hotch's t-shirt . . . something good was coming out of all of this awfulness.
It was something to hope for anyway.
She ran her hands over the navy cotton now covering her.
Though it was just a t-shirt, it felt very intimate putting on Hotch's clothes. She'd never had brothers, so the only men's clothes she'd worn previously had belonged to ex-boyfriends.
Lovers.
So this was now something else that was special between them.
With a sigh, Emily stood up and unzipped her pants, shimmying out of them before she shook them out and hung them neatly over the end chair next to the door.
They'd be okay for work tomorrow.
Just as she was about to unhook her bra, Emily remembered that Hotch was making her a snack. So maybe it would be good if she wasn't bouncing around when he came back in again.
Okay . . . she looked down at the expanse of bare skin she had exposed . . . she should probably put some pants on too. Hotch's shirt fell just above mid-thigh, which would be fine for sleeping, but not really appropriate for whatever her current relationship with him was.
Just as Emily turned to pick up the flannel pants he'd brought her, she suddenly paused as she realized what word had just popped into her head.
Current.
She'd qualified her relationship with Hotch by using the word "current."
As in she expected that it would change in the future. That someday . . . she looked down at her bare legs again . . . the outfit she was wearing would be entirely appropriate for Hotch to see.
Her jaw twisted back and forth for a moment as she considered such a future. Again . . . for just a brief moment . . . the ache in her chest was pushed back by something else. Something she'd felt when Hotch had held her in the living room. Something she'd felt after she'd kissed him here in the bedroom.
It was something good and pure.
And apparently some part of her could take those feelings and project out a possible future with this man who had opened his home to her.
This man who had promised to open his heart to her.
"Emily, are you all right?"
Hearing Hotch's worried voice, Emily snapped her head up to see him standing in the doorway looking at her with concern.
That's when she realized that she'd been staring down at her toes for at least a minute. A minute when she should have been putting some pants on before he came back.
Crap.
"Oh, uh, yeah," her cheeks started to feel a little warm as she tugged slightly on the t-shirt to see if she could stretch it down, "sorry, I was just . . . thinking."
Hotch stared at her for a moment, trying to decide if she was really okay or just trying to cover.
The last time he'd walked into a room and found her staring at the carpet, she'd been on the verge of tears. Finally he decided that for the moment at least, she seemed all right.
Well, if not actually 'all right,' then at least as well as could be expected.
So after one quick, mostly involuntary, look at her legs . . . he was a man and sometimes you just couldn't stop your eyes from roving . . . Hotch moved on to the reason he'd come back to the room.
"Okay, well, here," he put down a steaming cup and small blue plate on the nightstand, "I made you some tea and cheesy toast." He tipped his head slightly as he continued, "I thought it would taste better than crackers."
Cheese sandwiches and canned soup were about all he could offer her right now. They should definitely go to the store during lunch tomorrow.
If at all possible he'd like to avoid running errands with her after dark.
Emily looked over at the snack he'd made for her. He'd even given her some little graham crackers shaped like teddy bears. They had to be Jack's. Her eyes started to sting again.
That was really sweet.
When she looked back at him she made sure to conjure up a smile for his efforts.
"Thank you, I promise I'll eat everything."
Hotch nodded, "okay, well, uh," he paused for a second, "I'll be just across the hall if you need anything."
It felt strange leaving her alone. All night he'd made a point of not letting her out of his sight for more than a few minutes, now he'd be leaving her for six hours.
Though his bed was only ten feet away across the hall, it still seemed wrong. And given how obviously distressed she was tonight, he wasn't sure if she was really any happier about him leaving her alone than he was.
So he ended up just blurting out the question that was pressing on his brain.
"Are you going to be all right by yourself?" And then realizing that might sound a little sexist, he tipped his head as he quickly elaborated, "I just meant, I could sit with you if you want. You know, if you can't sleep."
Hell, he'd drag in a pillow and camp out on the floor if that's what she wanted.
"I'll be okay," she gave him a sad smile, "I'm a big girl, and I have to start dealing with this stuff myself."
Just because Hotch was being so sweet and supportive didn't make it right for her to lean on him so much.
Hotch's brow darkened as he stepped closer and took her hand.
"No," he said firmly, "you don't. I told you that you're not dealing with this by yourself. We're dealing with it together. And if it would make you feel better, I can sleep on the floor."
Seeing that she was about to turn him down on principle, Hotch picked up her other hand up and tugged her closer, until she was pressed against his body. Then he softened his tone.
"Emily you know that what happened tonight was a terrible shock to your system. Not only was your friend murdered, but both your home and your sense of safety, have been violated. So it's completely understandable if don't want to be alone."
If their positions were reversed, he could honestly say that he wouldn't relish waking up by himself at three in the morning.
Emily was so close to Hotch that she had to tip her head back to look up at him. And God knew with him that close, all she wanted to do was confess that yes, actually she was TERRIFIED to be by herself.
But what she'd said to him was true.
It was one thing to lean on him to get through this, but he couldn't stay with her twenty-four hours a day for the rest of her life. And what if this wrapped up next week and she had to go back and live in her own apartment again? If she turned herself over to him completely, she didn't know how she'd go back to functioning again when she was physically all alone. She wanted them to be closer, but they weren't that far along yet in their relationship.
Making him into her security blanket would be dangerous.
So she reluctantly shook her head and lied through her teeth.
"I'm fine Hotch, really. I just . . . I just need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll be better able to deal with everything."
Only half of that was bullshit. She really did believe that if she could get some rest that she'd start to get a better handle on things in the morning.
Hotch knew that Emily was lying. When she told him that she was fine, her eyes had shifted away from his for a split second. But he also knew that for some reason this was important to her, staying by herself. And he didn't want to push it and make her defensive . . . it would just cause her more stress.
So he let it go.
"Okay," he tipped his head, "if you're sure."
And he squeezed her hands one last time before he let them go. He stepped back.
"I'll leave my door open."
She gave him a little smile, "okay, thanks."
And then she watched as he turned and disappeared out into the hall again.
Her eyes started to sting as she looked over at the bed. Then her gaze traveled up and around the room.
At least there weren't any windows.
/*/*/*/
Hotch woke up to a sound coming from somewhere in the apartment.
Crying and yelling.
SHIT!
EMILY!
He was grabbing his gun off the nightstand as he leapt out of bed. Then while he was running out of his bedroom and across the hall, he saw Daisy streak past him right going the other way.
When he burst into the spare room, he found Emily sobbing in her sleep.
He stopped short with a wince.
Because this was exactly the other reason that he hadn't wanted to leave her alone.
Nightmares.
Now with an ache in his heart, Hotch moved over to sit down on the edge of the mattress. With one hand he put his Glock down on the nightstand, while with the other he was turning on the lamp. Once the room was illuminated, he shifted around and began rubbing her back.
"Emily," he whispered, "come on, you need to wake up now."
Given how he was attempting not to startle her, it took a good minute of his quiet cajoling to get through to her subconscious. But then suddenly Emily was bolting upright, gasping and crying, clearly in a state of terror. Then, still clearly in the fog of her nightmare, she shoved him away as she began to grab for her gun on the other side of the bed.
Fortunately Hotch's reflexes were faster than hers . . . he caught her arm just before her fingers closed around the grip.
"Emily, NO!" He said forcefully, "It's me!"
Her trying to shoot him in the night was not actually something that he'd planned for!
Emily blinked as she looked up at him, her eyes finally focusing in on his. And when he saw the realization of what she'd almost done actually hit her, her jaw dropped.
She began to cry even harder.
"Oh God, Hotch, I'm sorry!" she sobbed desperately, "I'm so sorry!"
Then she pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the bed . . . she was clearly trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
When Emily turned away, she curled into a fetal position under the covers, and jammed her fist into her mouth, trying to quiet her cries.
Christ! She'd just tried to pull a gun on Hotch! How could she DO that?!
Feeling his heart breaking at her quiet sobs, Hotch reached for her again.
"It's okay," he whispered as he rubbed her shoulder, "it's okay, really. Please don't cry, Emily."
But his words did nothing to stop her weeping. And she looked so pitiful curled into a small ball in that big bed, he could think of only one thing to do.
He pulled back the covers and climbed in next to her.
For a moment his fingers hovered over her arm . . . he was hesitant to touch her, afraid of overstepping whatever new boundaries they were establishing. But he just couldn't see her in so much pain knowing that he might be able to do something once again . . . something real . . . to actually comfort her.
So he reached for her, pulling her body back against his as he wrapped her up in his arms. Then he began to murmur softly in her ear.
"Emily it's okay. It wasn't you, it was just the nightmare. Your reaction was instinctual."
God only knew what horror show had been playing in her mind when he'd come into the room. His own dreams so far that night had been pretty horrific. A half hour ago he'd woken up gasping himself. In his nightmare it wasn't Kelly that had been found decapitated . . . it was Emily.
And as that horrendous image came back to him, he realized that their current stance couldn't get much more familiar than it already was, so he gently rubbed his hand across her stomach to reassure himself that she was there with him. Then he whispered.
"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"
At his question she immediately stiffened in his arms. But then a moment later, he heard her suck in a ragged breath.
"I was in my bedroom and I woke up and he, he was on top of me, and I couldn't," her voice broke, "I couldn't get away! I couldn't get him off me and I couldn't get AWAY!
The end came out on a strangled sob as Emily jammed her fist into her mouth again.
OH GOD! HOW WAS SHE EVER GOING TO SLEEP IN HER OWN HOUSE AGAIN?!
Hearing the terror in her voice, Hotch winced . . . she was dreaming about being raped. He thought it would be about the murder, but no, her subconscious was terrified that Lipsky was going to get back into her bedroom again.
Get back into her bedroom and she'll wake up with him already on top of her.
Good Christ . . . he felt a burst of rage . . . no wonder she'd pulled the gun on him! Because it was only by the grace of God that actual chain of events hadn't happened before.
Lipsky had been in her bedroom while she slept on three different occasions . . . the pictures were date stamped . . . and at any time he could have gotten the jump on her. He could have taken her gun off the nightstand and then pulled back the blankets and, and . . .
Hotch ruthlessly slammed the door shut on the images that followed. Unfortunately he'd had far too many rape cases in his career, and his imagination needed little assistance to go down a very ugly road.
But that wasn't going to happen! It was NEVER going to happen!
Those words were screamed in his head as he tried to push those horrible thoughts away. And then he realized that he needed to tell Emily that too. Because if this was her greatest fear right now . . . if that was what was feeding her nightmares . . . that meant some part of her believed that it could still happen.
"Emily, you're safe here," he whispered urgently in her ear, "and I swear to you on my son's life, that Lipsky's NEVER going to get that that close to you again. You and I are stuck together like glue. And if he comes within ten feet of us he's getting a bullet in his forehead. So you keep telling yourself that, that . . . ." his voice caught, "that terrible thing will never happen."
No part of him could use the words rape and Emily aloud in the same sentence.
After he spoke, for a moment Emily was quiet and then she came back with a watery.
"It was so real, Hotch. I don't know if I can get it out of my head. He's been in my house. How do I know that he didn't try that before? Maybe I . . ." she bit her lip, "rolled over or something and he got scared. But you saw how close he was when he took those pictures. He could have," she started to cry again, "he could have SO easily!"
All of the whatifs wouldn't stop haunting her. These weren't implausible scenarios, this was her mind attempting to fill in the blanks between the photographs.
And she didn't know how to make them STOP!
As her panic began to rise up again, she made herself focus in on Hotch's body wrapped around hers . . . made herself focus in on his promise to her.
Slowly the horrible flashes in her mind began to fade.
They didn't disappear completely, but she couldn't deny that Hotch's presence with her was the only thing pulling her back from the brink of actual hysteria.
Apparently . . . she thought with bitter sadness . . . she did need a security blanket.
Slowly, Emily's sobs began to subside, and then a few minutes later Hotch felt her grasp his hand where it was wrapped around her waist. Neither of them said anything else . . . Hotch could think of nothing else to say . . . so he just held her. And after a bit more time had passed, he realized that she'd cried herself back to asleep.
Feeling her soft body in his arms, Hotch stared over Emily's shoulder, across the room to the oak dresser.
For two people that weren't lovers, they were in an incredibly intimate position.
Her breasts . . . though covered in cotton . . . were otherwise unrestrained and pressing against his arm where it was wrapped around her body. And the rest of the t-shirt had ridden up as she squirmed in her sleep. Now it was bunched up around her waist, and although he tried to pull it down a little, for all intents he was pressed against her half naked body. None of these things had been concerns when she was crying, but now he was debating as to whether he should get up and go back to his own bed.
But he just didn't want to leave her alone.
She'd just cried herself to sleep in his arms. How could he leave her now? What if she had another nightmare? What if she woke up terrified and by herself? No, she wasn't a child but . . . he laced their fingers together . . . she'd suffered a horrible trauma. If she didn't have to be by herself, then why should she be by herself? He made a decision.
She wouldn't be.
If she'd wanted him to go then she would have asked him to leave. Or pushed him away. But instead she'd shared that horrible dream with him, and then cried herself back to sleep with his body wrapped around hers.
All right . . . he slowly exhaled . . . that meant it was okay if he stayed.
And once he'd decided to stay, Hotch figured that he was already in for well over a pound, so he cuddled her closer and tipped his head down to rest against hers. Then he sighed.
He hadn't slept with a woman like this in over a year.
Nineteen months.
It had been nineteen months since Haley had left him. Thirteen months since their divorce was finalized. He'd slept with two women since then. But, though they'd had sex, there had been no post coital bonding. Those relationships were purely physical, both set ups from Dave.
Both women were being deployed overseas.
One was an Army officer going to Iraq, the other was a DEA Agent going to Afghanistan. Dave had known that Hotch had no interest in starting up a new relationship, so he'd thought that they would be perfect for him. And though Hotch had resisted at first . . . he wasn't generally a proponent of what was essentially a one night stand . . . eventually he'd relented.
The arrangement held an appeal that he couldn't deny.
And both women were quite pragmatic about it as well. Nobody was looking for a relationship. They knew he was recently divorced, he knew they were going off to war.
Everyone was just there to get laid.
He took them to dinner at an expensive restaurant and afterwards they went back to her place. What started up in the living room was finished up in the bedroom. And as soon as it was over, it was like a script had been followed. The women pulled on their robes, and while he got dressed, they made him coffee. Then he sat in their kitchens and had a single cup of coffee with these women that could easily be leaving never to see their homes again.
And they sat there and talked about people they knew who had been deployed, where they had been stationed. The ones who had come home.
The ones who hadn't.
And when their coffee was gone, he wished them luck, told them to be careful, and he was sent on his way with a last kiss goodbye.
It was about as cleanly no strings sex as he could imagine.
And though he'd been grateful for the physical release, he'd found the whole thing to be emotionally depressing. Because this . . . he ran his thumb over the back of Emily's hand . . . this was what had been missing.
Some real connection with another person.
Though he'd had sex with those women, it hadn't meant anything. And they'd talked, but they'd talked about war. They'd talked about death.
They'd talked about Important Things.
It had been like college. Back when you met strangers and discussed grand ideas with people like it all mattered.
Like any of it mattered.
What he really missed was lying in bed with Haley, talking about the scribbles Jack had made on the wall, that the price of milk had gone up, that the gutters needed cleaning out.
It wasn't romantic pillow talk, not like when they were young and talked about their dreams for the future. But still, those nights curled up with his wife and talking about things of absolutely no importance . . . they had been real.
It was his life.
And that's what he'd missed with those women. A belief that the horrors that he breathed day in and day out, weren't all that he was.
That the nightmare wasn't the reality.
Emily suddenly began to whimper in her sleep so Hotch moved to lightly stroke his fingers along her cheek until she quieted once more. And that, this, lying here now with Emily was real. This was what he wanted to have again. Someone to curl up with at night, someone who would call him Aaron and not Hotch.
He just wanted to someone to love him for him.
This woman . . . Hotch shifted back on the pillow, pulling Emily with him . . . over the past six months, he had become emotionally attached to her. And he knew that if he allowed himself to, he could fall in love with her.
But was that something that he actually could allow himself to do?
It was the question that had been haunting Hotch since Matthew had died. Since he'd realized that his attachment to Emily was no longer professional, or even familial.
It was very personal.
The cold spots in his heart . . . the ones he'd had since Haley had left him . . . when he was with Emily, they felt warm again. Little sparks that would kindle only for her.
He had no idea if his feelings were reciprocated though.
Okay . . . he pictured the smile on her face when he surprised her by accepting the first invitation for dinner, and then he flashed on the kiss she'd given him a few hours ago . . . if her feelings weren't exactly the same, then it probably wouldn't take much to convince her to take a chance on him. But he was just terrified of what came after. At best of course it was a chance to be happy again.
The deck was stacked against that outcome though.
Putting aside for just a moment his multitude of personal issues, the fraternization rules would forbid the relationship on its face.
And then of course he was also her supervisor.
Even if he was inclined to overlook the fraternization policy . . . which he probably could given the limitations Strauss placed on his career advancement . . . the supervisor issue was a genuine problem. Not only would he be severely disciplined if it came to light, but both he and Emily could potentially be reassigned. Even though the Vatican situation had proven to him that if push came to shove that he would always place Emily over the job, having to actually make that choice, of course still terrified him.
Because that scenario always assumed there were no other options left.
He'd already chosen the job over his personal happiness once, and that was how he had lost Haley. But if the question was ever posed again . . . he had no doubt . . . he would make the other choice. So if he and Emily were already involved and he had to lose his job to keep her, he could live with that.
And he could live with that without bitterness or resentment.
He could teach at a university, or do private consulting. Or maybe . . . if his age wasn't a factor . . . he could just transfer to another agency. He could find some way to make it work.
But this was a different question.
Was he willing to risk his entire career . . . not to keep her . . . but for just the CHANCE of being with her? He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent . . . maybe.
Maybe he was.
Maybe he was a man fast approaching fifty, with a young son that he saw far too little of. A man who no longer had friends outside of work, a man who worked in excess of seventy hours a week immersing himself in the darkest of human tragedy.
A man who had no life.
So what exactly was he holding onto? He certainly wasn't happy. He just . . . his eyes began to burn . . . existed.
That's what his life had become, an existence.
And he had no prospects for happiness save for perhaps this woman lying in his arms.
Perhaps this terrible chain of events was presenting him with an opportunity. An opportunity to pick a new path. That's what she wanted, for him to share with her the way he was asking her to share with him. She might not have meant romantically, but he could start with this and move to that. See how receptive she was to such a change. He had a feeling that she probably would be, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.
Or God forbid capitalize on her grief.
All he wanted to do now was to make this easier for her. To help her as he should have helped her when Matthew had died. And of course . . . he turned his head slightly to see his Glock sitting on the nightstand . . . to protect her.
As he suddenly flashed on the bloodbath in Kelly's apartment he realized that his gun was much too far away. So he moved his hand back and picked it up. And after he checked the safety, he slid it underneath his pillow.
There . . . he sighed against Emily's hair . . . that was better. And maybe, with the clock by the bed showing it was after three, that was enough thinking for one night. Tomorrow he'd move forward as he'd promised her that he would.
And that . . . he closed his eyes again . . . that would be a start.
Just as he began to drift off, Hotch felt Emily start to squirm and whimper in his arms. Instantly awake once more, Hotch's eyes popped open as he kissed her temple and murmured, "it's okay Emily, I'm right here."
It was obvious to Hotch that the nightmares were a constant companion tonight. And what he wouldn't give to actually climb into her subconscious and help her keep the demons at bay.
With another painful moan she curled into a ball again as she started to cry in her sleep. For a moment he thought that she was trying to pull away and he considered waking her. But then . . . rather than attempting to move out of his arms . . . she turned and buried her face in his neck.
So he took advantage of the change in their positions to pull her closer, tangling their legs together so she'd feel him with her.
When he looked down a few minutes later, her tears were drying and the pinch in her brow was gone. He prayed that meant that the nightmares were gone for a little while too. Really though, once she'd settled against him, her panicked breathing had begun to even out and he had started to wonder if maybe pressed against him this way . . . with their bodies wrapped together . . . subconsciously, she knew that she wasn't alone. That she was breathing him in as he was her, and that's how she knew that he was there.
He was there and there was no way that Lipsky was ever going to get to her.
Maybe this was the way to start whatever new path he was trying to walk down with her. Words meant less than actions. So he needed to not just tell her that he'd help her through this crisis, but continue to show her . . . in every way that he could . . . that he was with her in this.
And maybe that would prove to her . . . he pressed his lips to her temple . . . he wasn't going anywhere.
A/N 2: So yes, lots of stuff happened here. Though nothing really happened at all except they went to bed :) Again, always keeping my eye on avoiding redundancies in the relationship build, I figured what the hell, I'm not making this a 50 chapter story so I didn't want to screw around. Let's assume that what we were seeing onscreen in season 4 was the beginning of them developing feelings for one another and these events are a catalyst for moving them forward. That wasn't my initial plan (thought I'd drag it out a bit more) but this story takes place after the episodes where they'd clearly become attached at the hip so I think it works. And rather than do it like I did in Mirror (something I've been skimming trying to see what I did there so as to NOT do it exactly the same here) where Hotch falls for her first and she's initially oblivious, I figure have him fall HARDER first but that Emily's really on the same page that he is. It's just that she's consciously attempting to keep a little buffer so as not to become dependent on him. Assuming that whatever changes happen in their relationship that she's still going to have to move back on her own again soon and she doesn't want to rely on him too much. And he's to the point that he thinks it's time to make up for past wrongs and he's doing his damnedest to step up.
I also decided to not let Hotch be a eunuch here. And given my own (sadly routine) knowledge of the deployment process, I know that for singles, hook ups simply for sex before they go, are quite common. And given how I personally have known dozens of men and women that have shipped out since 9/11, I see their world being even more intimately acquainted with this process. And I really thought that worked for Hotch. I think I toyed with this idea over in Girl but I definitely think him going through with it jibed better for this version of him. Where he doesn't yet have Emily in his life in the way he does in Girl, so he was just looking to have some physical release.
To be clear, there was no rape foreshadowing in this chapter. If you're new with me, please know that I don't write 'Emily gets raped' stories. That was just a nightmare. I was playing in Emily's head and trying to think of all the things that had happened that night, which what if would be haunting me the most. And it always comes back to being watched while you're sleeping, knowing that you're in the dark and he was just a few feet away. And then you'd be wondering what he was doing in there BESIDES taking pictures. And all of the terrible things that could have happened. I see that being where your subconscious would become obsessed.