Author's Note: We're opening with Hotch's observations late in the afternoon.

Story Title Prompt Set #2

Author: Elizabeth George

Prompt: A Moment on the Edge

Two Steps Backwards

Hotch's gaze shifted up from his notepad, to eye Emily sitting across from him at the conference room table.

She looked pale.

His jaw began to twitch faintly with concern, but given how earlier that day she'd smacked him on the knee for staring at her when they were meeting with Detective Durant, he knew that she wouldn't appreciate him doing it again now. So he reluctantly tore his eyes away from her pretty face, and let his attention drop back down to the three words that he'd scribbled on the legal pad in front of him.

Change Emily's locks

Twenty plus minutes into JJ's briefing, and that was the only note he'd made. And clearly this note was not at all relevant to the topic of the current discussion. A discussion which he knew that as chief of the unit he should perhaps be paying a bit closer attention to if he wished to retain said title.

But well, at the moment, he quite frankly just didn't much care.

Between the meeting with Strauss . . . awkward . . . the meeting with Kelly's chief . . . painful . . . and the meeting with Durant . . . both awkward and painful . . . the day had been just as long and stressful as Hotch had expected it to be. So really, he'd been running on autopilot for the last hour. It was the only way to get through everything else they still needed to do, with half of his attention focused in on Emily wherever they went.

Unfortunately nothing had actually been accomplished today anyway.

Yes, they'd had all of those uncomfortable meetings with everyone, but the bottom line was, Lipsky was still in the wind. Durant said they'd received thirty-seven tips off the APB, only twelve of which had been deemed truly viable. Of those, there were only a couple on the hot sheet that had interested Hotch. The best one, was the possible sighting of Lipsky at a truck stop in Spotsylvania County. The reason that one held more weight for him than any of the other sightings, was that it had been submitted by a retired Connecticut State Trooper who had called in after he'd seen Lipsky's picture on the news.

The retired trooper . . . Mr. Gunderson . . . was on his way home from his winter stay in Florida. He and his wife had stopped for gas at three am and he said that Lipsky had been in the bay next to him. And Gunderson said that the reason he remembered him, was that there had been a splattering of dark, brown'ish, stains on both his pants and his shirt.

The pattern had shown up under the fluorescents.

At the time, Gunderson said he had commented to his wife that it looked like blood. And she'd told him that he'd spent too many years on the job, that he was suspicious of everyone now, and that most likely the man was just covered in paint.

Sure enough though, those years of suspicion had paid off.

Because when they pulled the security tapes, Lipsky was indeed on the camera at 2:57 am filling up a late model four door Ford sedan. It wasn't his vehicle of record, so the State Police were running it down on the grand theft sheets. No luck so far, but Hotch figured he'd probably switched the plates off one car and then stolen another to slow down positive ownership.

He'd be surprised actually if that wasn't exactly what he'd done, because one thing that was already clear, this man was no idiot.

So that trace was going to take awhile. And the only other item which he'd heard about today which was of any interest to Hotch, were the land deeds that had turned up an hour ago down in Buckingham County. It was a property registered to Lipsky's deceased stepfather, so it had taken a bit of digging to find. But it had turned out that the stepfather . . . along with Lipsky's mother . . . had both died in a suspicious fire a few years ago.

The land had been left to Lipsky in the will.

And though it seemed unlikely that a man who had thus far evaded roadblocks in four states . . . not to mention two months of avoiding detection as a stalker by a woman trained to spot them . . . would choose to hole up in such an obvious locale, still, stranger things had happened. So Durant had people on their way down there now to check it out.

And by "people" he meant a half dozen detectives, four local deputies, and two SWAT teams with matching canine units.

So right now Hotch had all of that spinning around his head as JJ was running down an update on a situation they were monitoring in Texas. Multiple body dumps near Amarillo. Hotch had absorbed enough of her presentation to know that the locals had just found three more decomposing corpses.

That was literally about all he'd retained though.

Fortunately Dave had taken a special interest in this case anyway, because he'd run down a UNSUB in Amarillo a few years before Hotch had joined the BAU. So most likely he was committing all of this to memory while JJ went along. Which was just as well, because the part of Hotch's brain that wasn't sifting through all of these new factoids about Lipsky, and looking for behavioral patterns that would help to catch him, he simply could not stop thinking about Emily.

How she didn't need to be there for this briefing with the headless corpses. And how these new brightly colored, glossy, decomp and autopsy photos, were just going to feed her nightmares tonight.

He'd had these concerns before they'd even walked in the door, so just before the meeting had started, he'd pulled Emily aside and told her that she could skip the briefing today and just catch up on the file Monday when things weren't so raw. But of course she'd insisted on attending anyway. She'd said that she appreciated his concern . . . she'd been saying that a lot today when he started to get too protective . . . but that this was her job, and that she was going to do it. And then she'd said that after spending the majority of the day immersed in the hell that was her own life right now, all she wanted was a little normality to finish out the afternoon.

She'd sounded so exhausted that Hotch hadn't had the heart to point out that the study of prostitutes being abducted, sexually assaulted, dismembered and scattered throughout the highways and byways of the Lone Star state, wasn't considered a "normal" afternoon by anyone but perhaps the six people in that room.

The six people that Hotch could see were practically vibrating with tension as they sat tapping their pens around the table. And he knew that tension wasn't over the matter that was being discussed.

It was over the matter that wasn't.

First thing that morning he and Emily had pulled the team in to apprise them of the events of the night before. To say that they were "upset," didn't even begin to cover it. It had gotten even worse when Hotch had ordered them to stay completely out of the investigation. Even as he'd been saying the words he had been watching the reactions of the others at the table.

Disbelief, horror, and finally . . . righteous fury.

A fury which had been directed away from Lipsky and on to Hotch himself, as soon as he'd told them that they were completely hands off the investigation or he was writing them up.

Even though he'd known that wasn't going to go over well, he was absolutely unyielding on that point.

As a result there had been a lot of yelling from all quarters, a lot of F bombs, (Reid had used a few curse words that Hotch didn't realize he'd even knew), Morgan had paced the room like a panther, and Dave had slammed his fist into the table.

Twice.

Not one of them could see that he was trying to protect them. Or if they did, they didn't care. All they saw was that one of their own had been threatened, they wanted to close ranks . . . and he was standing in their way.

Finally Emily, who had been quiet once the yelling had started, had pounded her own fist down on the table. And when they'd all turned to look at her, she'd spoken up quite loudly, and said that if anyone really wanted to help her, then they'd do exactly as he'd ordered. Because on top of everything else, the last thing she needed was to worry about was them risking their careers for her. And that even though she was thankful for their support and concern, they'd already been down this road before, and she wasn't having it again. Then when Dave and Morgan both started to speak up again, she responded flatly, that if they didn't let it go, then she would be taking a leave of absence with the intent of tracking down Lipsky herself on her own time.

Though Hotch knew that was a bluff . . . for one thing she knew that he never would have allowed her to do it . . . the threat had shut them up. And once Hotch had control of the room again, he had shot them all a glare as he'd finished up what he had wanted to say earlier.

That even though the team was to stay out of the INVESTIGATION, they could assist him and Emily in other ways.

That he would need an extra body with them for off duty tasks . . . he stressed the off part of the duty . . . and that if anyone wanted to help in that way, essentially as a security detail, then he would allow it.

That had taken his head off the chopping block. And when he and Emily left a few minutes later to go brief Strauss, Rossi and Morgan had been working out a schedule with the two of them working as primary support, and Reid and JJ as secondary.

The team was also . . . unexpectedly . . . helping them care for Daisy.

Though the plan had originally been to leave her in Hotch's office, with him and Emily off the floor for half the day, Emily had been a little agitated leaving Daisy completely alone. So Reid, Garcia, and JJ had been taking turns catsitting while they were gone.

It was a bit surprising given that he'd never had a pet, but Reid was actually the one who Daisy had responded to best. To the point actually, that when Emily had come back from her Durant meeting to find Daisy asleep in his lap while he reviewed case files, she had given him a sad smile and dubbed him the Cat Whisperer.

Hotch knew how guilty Emily felt having to leave Daisy alone for so long after the trauma she'd suffered the night before, so they were both just grateful that she was bonding with somebody else besides just the two of them.

So at least the cat's basic needs had been addressed.

And as to Emily's needs, tomorrow, Dave and Derek were meeting them at his apartment, so the three of them could go to her place together and get her enough clothes to last for the duration of this situation.

A trip to Emily's bedroom . . . Hotch's teeth started to grind as those pictures began flashing in his head again . . . yeah, that was going to be fun.

Hotch was pulled out of his mental planning for the weekend, when Emily suddenly stood up and bolted from the conference room. JJ and Morgan both immediately pushed back their chairs, but Hotch was already up and moving out of his seat, shaking his head as he started towards the door.

"I've got it," he jerked his thumb towards Daisy curled up in the corner of the room, "Reid, you watch the cat."

Ignoring the looks exchanged among the other members of the team . . . his and Emily's newfound closeness had not gone unnoticed . . . Hotch hurried out of the conference room.

He caught sight of Emily just as she disappeared into his office.

"Thank God," he muttered to himself, because it would have been a bit awkward following her if she'd run out into the ladies room. As it was, he was barely four steps behind her so he caught the door just as it was falling shut.

She must have known it would be him coming after her, because she didn't even look back.

And knowing that they'd need the privacy, after he'd stepped over the threshold, Hotch turned around to lock the door and pull the blinds before he looked across his office. Emily was standing by the window with her back to him.

Her shoulders were shaking.

His gut started to ache again, because it was the first time that he'd seen her cry since they'd left his apartment. But given how raw her emotions were, he had known it was only a matter of time before the dam burst again.

Really, given that it was almost three in the afternoon, she'd been doing AMAZINGLY well keeping her composure.

But this day had been so hard, and it had been genuine frustrating for him that there hadn't been anything he could do to shield her from the pain he knew she was feeling with each new meeting, and each new blow. And as he felt a wave of sadness wash over him in sympathy for her plight, Hotch walked over to the window and stopped directly behind her. He reached out and let his hand slide up and along the curve of her hip.

Then he pulled her back to his chest.

Her body was soft and pliant, so he slipped his arms completely around her waist and tipped his head down to nuzzle her neck.

This was obviously not typical, nor appropriate, office behavior, but this was not a typical day at the office. And as long as they were completely alone, with no chance of being seen or interrupted, he saw no reason not to comfort her as he had that morning.

And if he was honest with himself, he'd actually been dying to touch her all day.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" He murmured.

He could have asked if she was okay, but clearly she wasn't. So he just wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make her feel better.

Emily sniffled as she squeezed the calloused fingers resting on her belt buckle.

"Um, coffee maybe would be good, but um," her voice cracked, "in a few minutes, okay?"

Damn it. She'd been doing so well! This was the first time that she'd cried since they'd left Hotch's. But that quiet time in the briefing had, surprisingly, been what had broken her composure.

It had been the first mundane, routine, activity she'd participated in all day. Every other meeting or conversation had in some way revolved around her or Kelly or Lipsky. So for all of those discussions she was in the spotlight . . . maintaining a professional demeanor by the skin of her teeth. But the briefing was a segment of time like a thousand that had come before it.

Her mind had begun to wander.

Wander off into areas that she had no business thinking about within the Academy walls.

And feeling Hotch now pressing a kiss to her neck, Emily closed her eyes and pictured them walking out the door right now. They could go back to his apartment and curl up in bed for the rest of the day.

But . . . her eyes popped open again as she sniffled . . . they couldn't actually do that.

They still had work to do.

Hotch winced as he saw Emily's hand come up to wipe across her face. He wanted to kiss her again, to see if that would make her feel better, but he stopped himself. Because he had told himself that one quick kiss was okay, that nobody else would know . . . but he knew.

And he knew that it wasn't right.

Regardless of the stress of these circumstances, they were in the office. And just because they were alone, it was still COMPLETELY inappropriate to be kissing her. Granted, just holding her this way wrong too, but that was one point where he was willing to bend his own moral code.

God knew a professional pat on the back wasn't going to cut it in the comfort department today.

Still though, holding her like this couldn't be a long term fix either. It was too intimate. So he walked them over to the leather sofa, sat down and pulled her down onto the cushion next to him. If they were already home he'd pull her into his lap. But they weren't home.

So he simply put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side.

This, he decided, would be his happy medium. He could be a comfort to his, well, whatever Emily was to him now he didn't yet know. But this way at least he could offer some support and not feel like he needed to write himself up.

And seeing that Emily had stopped crying now, he tipped his head down to rest against hers.

He knew that she just needed a minute. So they sat in the quiet for a little longer as he ran his fingers through her hair. And when it seemed as though her respirations were coming at a calmer pace, Hotch pressed his lips to her ear.

"What do you want for dinner?"

All he was trying to do was boost her up to go back out into the bullpen. It was a reminder that they were going home soon, and that would hopefully be enough to finish the day.

Emily rubbed her hand along Hotch's thigh before she looked up at him with a sad smile.

"Can we make spaghetti and meatballs?"

Though her appetite hadn't really returned, that was comfort food to her. And she knew that she had to eat, so she might as well try to eat something that would maybe make her feel a little better.

Or at least less depressed.

Hotch nodded as his free hand came down to rest on top of hers.

"Yeah, we can do that," he answered softly, while lacing their fingers together, "we'll get what we need on the way home."

Lipsky could be seven counties away by now, but Hotch wasn't taking any chances on safety. And there had been no time for his planned shopping excursion mid-day, but Morgan and JJ had already volunteered to be their extra eyes for the trip to Food Lion after work.

They said it was no problem helping them out.

Though as Hotch checked his watch and then remembered again that it was Friday night, he decided to just fill a box with his files and paperwork, and let all of them leave at four. That way they could get the shopping done at a reasonable hour, and they would all be to their respective homes by the time the sun went down at six. Because he'd decided yesterday, there was no reason to be out and about after dark unless it was absolutely necessary.

Bad things happened in the dark.

Feeling Hotch's fingers tighten over hers, Emily knew that some stray thought had just gone through his mind. And feeling badly that she was making him worry more than he was already, she took a few deep breaths before she turned to look at him with a faint smile.

"I'm ready to go get that coffee now."

Hotch stared down at Emily for a moment before he picked up her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. Then he nodded.

"Me too."

/*/*/*/*/

Five hours later

Emily took another sip of her wine as she waited for Hotch to come in from the kitchen.

Grocery shopping had gone off without a hitch, all items on the list . . . plus a number of impulse buys . . . crossed off within a half an hour. They'd ended up splitting the price of six bags of food. A lot of it frozen and non perishable items so, if it came to it, they'd be covered on meals for at least two weeks.

They'd invited Morgan and JJ to stay for dinner, but Morgan said he had plans . . . Emily thought he was lying . . . and JJ thanked them but said that she needed to get home to Will and Henry.

That one was clearly the truth.

So with it being just the two of them, Emily had insisted on making Hotch dinner without his help. She felt that it was the least that she could do given how he'd opened his home to her. Hotch had reluctantly agreed to go into the living room while she cooked, on the condition that he alone would be responsible for clean up.

He was adamant that he didn't want her to feel like she needed to earn her keep.

And he'd punctuated his argument with a kiss and then a hug, and while he was rubbing her back, and she was breathing him in, that's when Emily remembered that they were trying to keep their relationship on even footing. And sharing the workload for a joint meal was fair, so her remaining protests had fallen away.

Sitting in the living room waiting for him now though, was the first time all day that she'd been completely alone with nothing to do. It felt strange. And although she was tired . . . she pulled her knees up to her chest . . . she didn't want to go to bed yet. Really, she didn't want to go to bed at all. She chewed her lip worriedly.

Being assaulted over and over in her dreams was most definitely an experience that required no encore. And even though she knew that Hotch's presence last night had eventually helped to push away those horrors, she also knew that him being with her in bed wasn't a guarantee that she could keep her subconscious from traveling the same dark roads again. And regardless of whether there was another body beside you, Emily knew from experience, that dark roads were always traveled alone.

Or at least it seemed that way.

"The dishes are done and the leftovers are put away."

Emily's eyes snapped up to see Hotch had stepped into the living room. He was wiping his hands on the jeans that he'd changed into when they'd come home from work.

And seeing him like that, in jeans and a t-shirt, while hearing those words come out of his mouth, suddenly she felt a wave of hope wash over her and fill in those, cold and empty spaces. It was a hope that those could be words she could hear him say regularly, that this simple scene of domesticity could play out time and again. That they could somehow make this work, so they could regularly trade domestic chores and make announcements about tasks that mattered not at all. And she wanted to talk about that with him. Her gaze fell down to the hand where his wedding ring had once lived.

She wanted to talk about a lot of things.

Hotch looked down at Emily for a moment. While he was cleaning up she had changed into the pajamas that he'd given her last night, and now she was curled up in a ball on the end of the couch. He wanted to ask her why she was sitting that way. If it was because she was cold, or if it was because she was frightened.

Or because she was sad.

But he was afraid that she wouldn't give him a truthful answer, so he said nothing as he sat down beside her and leaned over to place his pistol next to hers on the coffee table.

Something was on her mind, something that was making her shut down again. Of course he knew a lot of things were on her mind, but a lot of things had been on her mind all day. It wasn't until they'd gotten home and had begun putting away the groceries that she'd become more subdued. Well, perhaps the mood was more pensive than subdued. It was like she was mulling something over. But he didn't want to push her. Last night she'd opened up because he was patient, and had shown her genuine affection.

He was hopeful that approach would work tonight as well.

But on the off chance that her posture was related to more mundane considerations, he decided to get up and go over to turn the heat up another notch.

Maybe that had been part of the problem, because when he returned the couch, rather than staying closed in on herself, she shifted around and straightened up. So he reached over to put his arm around her shoulders. And when she tucked her body against his side he pressed a kiss to her temple.

So far so good.

He decided to try a question.

"I know it's still early, but you didn't get much sleep last night," he murmured against her hair, "so do you want to go to bed?"

It was only eight-thirty but it felt much later.

"Um . . ." Emily's pause stretched out as she considered those nightmares again, "I don't really think I can sleep right now, but if you want to go then . . ."

"If I want to go, I can what?" Hotch cut off the rest of her sentence with a question and a raised eyebrow as he looked down at her. "leave you sitting out here by yourself in the dark?" He huffed humorlessly, "not happening."

Okay, sleeping was a no go. Though given what had happened last night, he couldn't really blame her.

Emily's eyes crinkled slightly at his dismissive tone.

"I was just trying to be polite. I mean," she rubbed her hand across her mouth, "I've already invaded your home, and totally messed up your routine, plus your weekend plans with your son. I don't want you to feel like you have to, you know, entertain me or anything."

Though it was a bit of a ham handed approach, she was trying to get him to bring up this topic that she wanted to discuss. Routines and weekend plans seemed like a good opening.

Or at least a path to segue into all of those other things.

But unfortunately Hotch either didn't get the hint, or didn't realize there was a hint to get, because he just patted her arm as he murmured dismissively.

"Don't be silly, Emily."

And then he stopped. And she started to think that maybe he did realize there was a hint to get there . . . and he was choosing not to take it.

Her assumption seemed a bit sounder to her when a moment later he announced just a bit too loudly.

"I pay for cable that I'm never home to watch, but I'm sure there are some movie channels on here somewhere."

Hotch picked up the remote, and as he waited for the channel guide to come up, he chewed the inside of his cheek with a slight bit of impatience. Because he knew that he should have responded to Emily's statement more fully, reassured her a bit more about how happy he was to have her there.

But he didn't want to.

It was as simple as that, he didn't want to. It seemed to him that if he tried to say anything more on his feelings about her being there . . . even though he was SO happy that she was . . . that he'd end up dragging himself into the larger discussion about how he'd feel about her being there all the time. Maybe by the end of the weekend he might broach that topic himself, but not tonight. Not after the day they'd had.

It would just be too much.

As Hotch began flipping through the channels, Emily tried to decide if she should find a different way to get him talking. And while she was thinking about that, she let her hand glide slowly, back and forth, across his stomach, over his t-shirt.

Even though the one thing (the ONLY thing) that she knew with full confidence was that this was now allowed, she was still adjusting to the idea that touching him so intimately . . . like she'd wanted to touch him for so long . . . wasn't inappropriate. But all he did as she rubbed his stomach was to press another kiss to her temple. And as she watched the pictures on the screen flip from people to animals to places over and over again, she slowly exhaled, trying to focus in on nothing but that moment.

A simple, normal, happy, moment.

Barring all of the undercurrents of their life at present . . . including her omnipresent guilt and grief over Kelly's horrible death . . . this was just a regular Friday night with a regular couple sitting on the couch and watching television. Her chest started to tighten.

But how much of that was an illusion?

Because she already knew that this wasn't a regular Friday night. If it was, then they wouldn't have their matching Glocks displayed on the coffee table in front of them. And there wouldn't be a squad car still sitting out in front of the building. Not to mention his son would be here, probably in bed by now, but he'd definitely be in the apartment. And really . . . even moving beyond those points . . . they weren't a regular couple anyway. They didn't go out, and he didn't bring her flowers, or make romantic declarations or . . . her brow began to wrinkle in concern . . . wait, were they even a couple at all?

She'd started to think so this morning, but now she didn't really know.

Of course she knew that he cared about her, and that when he kissed her, she felt connected to him like she'd never felt connected to any man before. But she also knew that Hotch felt badly about how things had played out with Matthew's death . . . he'd told her that himself . . . so she couldn't deny that some small part of her was worried that, in part, his decision to become involved with her right now was a decision being fueled by a guilty soul.

And as she sat there on that couch wrapped around his side, she began to really focus in on that idea. The idea that this relationship . . . her fingers clenched into his t-shirt . . . was being built on a foundation of guilt and past regrets. And if that were true, she began to wonder if after the scales were even again and his guilt had been assuaged, would he still want to be with her? Not just continuing to share her bed as she knew he wanted to . . . and they would be soon . . . but would he want to stay with her in a real relationship.

The long term, sharing chores and blankets and checking accounts, kind.

Feeling a new wave of sadness come rising up, Emily eyes started to burn . . . maybe he wouldn't. So maybe they really weren't a couple. Maybe this was all just temporary. Maybe it was all going to burn out when Lipsky was caught and they went back to what passed for normality in their fucked up lives.

A tear spilled over.

But she didn't want that to happen. She knew that she was in no position to be making decisions about anything so important, but she knew that was the one thing that she absolutely didn't want. She also acknowledged her being overtired and emotionally over wrought, was perhaps causing her to obsess over a situation that perhaps didn't need so much obsessing at the moment.

After all, it had only been twelve hours since he'd first kissed her.

But she couldn't help how she felt, and all of these unexpected . . . unwelcome . . . worries were now festering in her brain. And for a few more minutes she let them fester, let them dig their little holes, and poison the one good thing she had going in her life right now. And when she suddenly realized that this thing with Hotch truly was the ONE good thing going in her life, she decided that she was just making more worries for herself when she already had a full plate served up to her this week.

And once she came to that realization, the rational part of her brain began to assert itself again.

It reminded her that sometimes just going with the moment, which was what she had been doing earlier, was the best approach to life. A happy life, anyway.

If you think too much about things you can ruin them.

So with that thought now once again the dominant one in her mind, Emily took a breath and let her gaze shift back to the television. She looked at the colorful images flickering on the screen.

Hotch had stopped on The Goodbye Girl.

She liked that movie.

Okay, so this was the current moment in her life, cuddled up on the couch, safe and warm with a sweet, strong man who she knew would literally die for her. Now was she was going to obsess about their future, or was she going to just live this moment?

She tipped her head over onto his chest.

'Live,' she thought with a sigh. Just live. And maybe if she did that, just embraced this moment with him, then she would become distracted from her other worries.

Not only the ones about Hotch, but the ones about everything else.

And for awhile it worked. The two of them sat and watched that old movie for more than an hour. But as the film went on and she watched those two very different people try to forge a relationship, the other questions . . . the Hotch questions . . . began to run through her mind again. And she decided that living in the moment was great advice, but that having a little bit of clarity was good too. But she didn't need for them to have that big discussion tonight. She didn't need to have all of the answers about their future.

She needed to have one.

So she pushed herself back from him, and then up and onto her knees. When Hotch turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow, she leaned in and kissed him. Then she pulled back, looked at him for a moment . . . and then she leaned in and did it again.

That time when she began to pull away, she felt Hotch's fingers pressing into her hip. And as the kiss deepened, she let him pull her over into his lap where she looped her arms around his neck and straddled his waist.

Then they began tapping into those emotions that they had discovered earlier, were bubbling just below the surface.

It wasn't her intent to let things get as out of hand as they had that morning. Now she was just conducting a little experiment. She wanted to see what was feeding the rest of it. Was it his guilt? Their sexual attraction? A physical longing?

Or was it more?

As she felt Hotch clutch her desperately to his chest, Emily knew for sure that there was more there. More than just the attraction, or the guilt, and more than just the longing to finally take things to the next step. And as hard as she was trying to focus in intellectually on how she felt about what was happening, those were the exact feelings which kept distracting her.

These things that she felt with him, and only him, like this spark deep in her chest as his fingertip lightly stroked the outer curve of her breast, she could see clearly that they were leading her down a path from the little L to the big. But she needed to know if he was on that path too. That was the only answer she needed from him tonight.

And she needed that answer right now.

So with a gasp, she reluctantly broke away from him. They were both panting, and when she looked up she could see the confusion in his eyes. His own unasked question.

Why had she stopped?

Though part of her knew that it was wrong to get him worked up like this and then blindside him with a conversation about anything, let alone feelings . . . men generally hated to talk about feelings at the best of times . . . the rest of her felt that she had a right to know what was going on between them before she fell any further.

Basically before she fell in love.

"What are we doing?" She asked breathlessly.

"What?" Hotch's respirations were shallow as he tried to hide the panic that was bubbling up. He was feigning confusion but of course he knew exactly what it was she had meant by her question. But he'd already decided that this was not a conversation that he wanted to have tonight. But as she slid off his lap and back onto the couch cushion besides him, he knew that Emily did want to have this conversation. She'd let it slide that morning when they were in bed, but she clearly wanted to have it now.

And he knew then that his fears about being pushed into something that he wasn't ready for were about to come true.

"What are we doing right now?" Emily elaborated as she reached over and picked up his hand, "this," she said softly as she squeezed his fingers, "are we a couple now? Or is this just a . . ." her voice stuttered, "an attraction that we're acting on because of this situation."

Seeing Hotch's eyes were wide now with a rapidly unveiling panic, Emily tried to make him understand why she was asking these questions tonight.

"I'm not trying to put you on that spot," she whispered, "and I know that there are bigger concerns right not. That our safety is the thing we should be focusing on, but . . ." a sad smile touched her lips as she reached over to caress his cheek, "I like you. And I like being with you this. It makes me happy. And I know it's hard for you to open up, and I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," she shook her head, "really, I'm not looking for commitments or promises, I just, well, I just need to know if you're serious about me," her voice started to get husky, "because I'm serious about you. But I don't want to let myself get too attached to having you this way, if we really aren't on the same page."

Hearing the emotion bleeding into her words, Emily stopped talking. And then she cleared her throat and took a breath as she waited for Hotch to respond. But when the silence continued to stretch out, she saw that this was harder for him than she had thought it would be.

And then when his eyes shifted away from hers she finally understood that he didn't know how to answer her question. That he didn't know what to say.

So he continued to say nothing.

And the longer they sat there in silence, the more agitated she became. And then she started to get really irritated with him. Part of her knew that she was being irrational. That it wasn't fair to ask for an answer about his intentions when again, it had only been twelve hours since he'd kissed her.

But just she couldn't make herself take it back.

And when Emily saw that he was still refusing to lift his head, she dropped his fingers and reached over to pick up her gun. Then she swung her feet to the floor, stood up . . . and walked away.

Just before she left the room, she paused for a moment to call back over her shoulder.

"If you decide that you do want to talk, I'll be in my room. And if you don't want to, well . . ." she cleared her throat, "I have my gun, so I think I might be all right sleeping by myself tonight."

And then she walked out, praying to God that he was going to come after her.

A/N 2: Oooh, conflict! Given that they are going from zero to sixty here intimacy wise, there was no way that they weren't going to have a little tension. She just wanted "something" from him to show that his feelings for her were leading to something deeper, and he completely shut down. Not cool. I really like this Hotch though. He's more f'd up than Girl'Hotch, a few more dents in his armor. In my mind they're both easily canon, just exploring different aspects of his personality, so I'm creating their relationship out of a whole different ball of wax.