"He did not!" Amalya exclaimed incredulously into the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, her go-bag in her hand, as she fumbled with the key-card in her other hand as she tried to slide it into the light switch, while also keeping the door ajar with her foot to use the hallway lights for illumination. Once the lights came on, she placed the 'do not disturb sign on her door', before pushing it closed with her foot.
Her surprise turned into shocked laughter, the various sounds of disbelief leaving her lips as she listened to the other person only getting louder and more exaggerated the further she walked into the room. She put her bag onto the small table, and pulled the phone away from her ear, pressing the speaker button before she placed it on the vanity before her. The woman's voice filtered through the speaker and filled the small room with her excited speech, which mixed with Amalya's various exclaims.
"I can't believe he actually did that." She stated, as she unzipped her ankle boots, and toed them off.
"Neither did mom, she thought he'd finally lost it!" the other woman giggled.
"Well, it's sort of about time. I mean; between actually being in a war, and raising all of us…. Is it really that far-fetched?" she teased, as she clipped off her holster, cuffs and baton.
"I mean, not really. But that's what it took?" the woman wondered.
"The straw the broke the camel's back," Amalya retorted. "No offence to him." She added, as she walked over to a door by her bed, and pulled it open. She was surprised to find Hotch on the other end of the door, with a door open in his hand as well.
"Oh, sorry." She apologized.
"Am?" the woman's voice called in worry.
"You're fine, I had no idea either." Hotch stated, "do you need anything?" he asked.
"No, thanks. Have a good night." She replied.
"You as well." He said softly before they both retreated back into their own rooms, and closed their doors.
"Am?" the woman called once more, her worry increasing.
"Yeah, I'm here. There's a door that leads to the adjoining room where apparently Hotch is staying." She told her.
"The boss who has the hots for you?" the woman deadpanned, and Amalya groaned.
"Selim put you up to this didn't he?" Amalya whined, as she unzipped her pants, and pulled them over her hips.
"Wait, Selim thinks so too?" the woman inquired with interest.
"Like he's not the one who put the idea in your head." Amalya retorted, just as a soft thud by her feet caught her attention.
"He didn't put anything in my head, Am. I haven't seen him in a while, and last time he called, you two were together, which correct me if I'm wrong, was only yesterday!" the woman countered.
Amalya bent down to pick up the money that fell out of her pocket when she pulled her pants over her hips, and was frowning at them.
"So why would you assume he has a crush on me?" she asked, as she checked her purse.
"From what you told me about him, and how he treats you differently." Came the woman's simple answer.
"He doesn't treat me any differently." Amalya protested, as she turned towards the door with the money still in her hand, as she contemplated her next move.
"You're the one who told me the entire team were shocked when you got him to leave his office at the end of the day instead of the usual long hours he pulled," the woman started, "which means that if any of them – Rossi included – had been in your place, he either would've stood his grounds, or fired them!" she argued.
"You and Selim are nuts!" Amalya shot back.
"Knowing Selim agrees with me means I'm right. If a man can see it, then it's true." The woman gloated.
"Then riddle me this; why would he put what he owed me for lunch in my pocket without me knowing?" Amalya objected.
"To cover it up, Ms. Hot-Shot-Profiler!" the woman exclaimed in frustration.
"Man, am I glad he doesn't understand Arabic!" Amalya groaned, and the woman laughed.
"Sweet dreams, cuz." She said softly.
"You too, hun." Amalya replied, before she ended the call. She pulled off her shirt, and tossed it on the bed, grabbed a few items from her go-bag before she walked over to the bathroom and shut the door.
Unbeknown to her – and to Hotch – when he closed his door, the latch didn't click all the way, so her voice as she bickered with her cousin carried over louder than she thought to his room. He had no idea what was being said, but he found himself captivated by it nonetheless. He changed into some loose pants, and a t-shirt before he sat down on the bed. He still needed to get ready for bed, but was sore from the case. He leaned his back against the pillows, and closed his eyes for just a minute. But that was all it took; his body relaxed, and it became harder for him to fight the pull of exhaustion. Coupled with Amalya's voice coming from the adjacent room, and he drifted off into sleep faster than he'd ever slept in his life.
He was lying on his back, Foyet hovering over him as he taunted him.
"So tell me, would I use this?" he enunciated menacingly, as he plunged the blade into Hotch's torso. Hotch gasps in pain, just as Foyet pulls back the knife, and stabs him again, and another groan escapes him.
Amalya walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of baggy shorts, and a white tank top. She squeezed her locks into the towel in her hands to rid her hair of the water as much as she can before she sleeps. She walked back towards her go-bag, and pulled a bag of toiletries from it. She put it on the vanity, pulled a bottle from it, and squeezed some of its contents into her palms before she massaged it into her scalp and ran her fingers through the rest of her locks. She was working on braiding her hair, when she a faint noise caught her attention. She turned around to check her phone, but the screen was dark. She walked over to it, and that's when the noise became louder, and she realized it came from the room next door.
She quickly tied off the end of her braid, before she reached for her gun. She moved slowly towards the connecting door, and opened it. The noises became louder, evident of someone struggling. She saw a sliver of light filtering through the side of the door, and gently pushed it open, her gun ready to fire. The door opened without much resistance, and she saw Hotch lying on his bed in drenched sweat, as he grunted and thrashed a little in his sleep.
"Hotch!" she called, as she quickly put the safety back on, and placed it onto her own nightstand before rushing towards Hotch, who only seemed to get worse after she called for him.
"I will kill you." Hotch croaked, the blinding pain coming from the stab wounds making him desperate to slip into the welcoming darkness, but he wasn't going to satisfy the bastard.
"Hotch!"
The worried voice made his eyes widen in panic; he wasn't scared of Foyet, he knew he wouldn't kill him. But he wouldn't hesitate in killing her right in front of him.
"Lya!" he whimpered, as he craned his neck in the direction of the voice. He found her standing by the door, completely defenseless.
The predatory grin that split Foyet's face in half told him his fear was on point; the bastard was going to make her suffer, and make him watch.
"No, please." He begged, but the man was no longer listening to him, and was already walking over towards her.
"Hotch!" her voice was more worried now, and closer. She was next to him now; but how? Where was Foyet? How did she get past him?
"Lya!" he whispered again.
"Yeah, it's me. Come on." She encouraged him, her hands now touching him, but not in an effort to stop the bleeding. One hand was cupping his face, while the other was on his arm.
"Get out." He pleaded with her, as he craned his neck in search of Foyet, who was sauntering back to them.
"Aaron." She shook him a little, "you're dreaming."
He frowned; why would she say that? He was sure he wasn't; Foyet did stab him, he snuck into his apartment and stabbed him, and he was standing right there about to attack her as well.
"Haroon!" her voice was a bit more frantic now. His vision of her was starting to cloud, her voice becoming harder and harder to understand, and yet clearer the more his vision darkened.
"Haroon!"
And there she was again, sitting by his side, one hand cupping his cheek, the other on his arm; but he wasn't in pain, and he wasn't on the floor of his apartment. He bolted upright, his eyes moving wildly between her steady ones, in search for a comfort he desperately needed at the moment. She held his gaze steadily, whispering words that he could not understand, as his eyes now left hers, and scanned the room for Foyet. When he saw the inside of the hotel room, and no Foyet, his frazzled brain caught up to the facts; he was stabbed months ago, Foyet was dead – by her no less – and he was simply having a nightmare.
"You're safe." She soothed, and his eyes found hers again, only to now realize that he had a suffocating grip on both of her arms. He immediately released her, and she him. But he instantly missed the warmth and safety of her touch.
"I'm so sorry." He murmured through labored breaths.
"For having a nightmare?" she asked softly, "it's a pretty common affliction."
He chuckled weakly. He knew it was, but he hadn't had this particular one in a while.
Was he apologizing for dragging her into his dream? For putting her in imaginary danger?
He sat up straight, and rubbed his face with the palms of his hand. He felt the bed release as she got up, and he moved his hands away thinking she was leaving, and not wanting her to before he could at least thank her. But he found her walking over to the mini-bar, pulling a small water bottle from it, before she walked back and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he croaked. His voice still hoarse from both sleep, and the intensity of the dream.
"I didn't do anything." She waved him off.
"I must've been pretty loud to wake you." He pointed out, as he took a sip from the water.
"I hadn't slept yet, and your side of the connecting doors wasn't closed all the way so it made it easier for me to hear you." She explained.
"I hope I didn't hurt you, I'm not the easiest person to pull out from one of these."
"No, you didn't." She told him, and he sighed in relief. "Try to get some sleep." She encouraged, as she got off the bed once more.
"Thank you." He said, and watched her head for the connecting doors. He pushed the covers off of him, and made his way over to his brief case.
He heard her groan, and looked at her once more. He was trying to make sure he doesn't hold her gaze, too afraid of what she might see in them. And he simply didn't have the strength to steal his gaze at the moment.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked in a huff, her arms subconsciously crossing over her chest, which made her seem like a mother reprimanding a child.
"I don't think I'll be able to fall back asleep at the moment." He defended softly, almost guiltily.
She sighed audibly as she turned back around towards her room, and he thought that was it. But she didn't enter the room, she simply leaned in, and switched off the lights, before closing the adjoining door in his room and leaving hers open.
"You're not going to pull an all-nighter, nor will you work yourself to sleep. Late night TV is magnificent for insomnia." She said, as she fetched the remote, and walked around the bed to the other side.
"You don't have to do that." He told her. He wasn't really trying to get rid of her; her presence was keeping the ghost of Foyet away, but he had been vulnerable enough in front of her for one day.
"I was going to watch a little before bed myself, so a little company won't hurt. This case is hard enough." She retorted gently, as she pulled back the covers, and adjusted the pillows, before sitting down and leaning her back against the pillows.
There was something domestic in the simplicity of the whole interaction; both of them in their sleepwear, her hair damp from the shower and braided away from her freshly washed face, and – after catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass of the generic hotel art hanging on the opposite wall – his own hair was tousled from the nightmare. And they were both just lying on the bed as they searched for something to watch before bed.
He pulled the covers back himself, and adjusted the pillows like she did before plopping himself down next to her. She was focused on the TV as she flicked through the channels to find them something to unwind to. She settled on a channel that was showing an episode of Frasier, and she chuckled at the line David Hyde Pierce delivered effortlessly.
"You like Frasier?" he asked her.
"You don't?" she inquired back.
"It's a favorite of mine, actually." He replied truthfully.
"Frasier it is then." She declared, as she placed the remote between them.
The episode played on, and they found themselves chuckling in synch to the jokes and jabs, often laughing out loud. As much as he didn't want to admit it; she was right. Watching something that took his mind off of the case and the nightmare was helping him fall back asleep, and his eyes were starting to get heavy. But he tried not to yawn or show any signs, because he wasn't all that ready to have her leave yet. It was only when he heard only his own laugh at a jab, did he finally look to his right. His eyes softened immediately when he found her fast asleep next to him.
He reached for the remote from between them, and switched off the TV. He was glad when she didn't flinch at the lack of the sound, and didn't seem to notice at all that anything changed. He gently pulled the covers over her sleeping form, before he slid down himself, and finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
The early morning rays woke him, for he had forgotten to close the black-out curtains the night before. The light wasn't too much, it gave the room a soft hue. Not enough to interrupt your sleep if you want to drift off for a few more minutes, but enough to see your surroundings.
His eyes didn't take long to adjust to the light, before landing on the sleeping form next to him. For a split second, his still-sleeping brain assumed it was Jack, and he was in his own bed. But a closer look brought back the events from the night before.
Amalya was fast asleep next to him, completely unaware of anything being amiss. She was on her stomach, both her arms over head, bent at the elbow and tucked under the pillow where she had her face half-buried.
He laid completely still, almost too afraid to breathe, as he watched her.
He knew Rossi was right; scowling and growling at any man who dared get too close for his liking wasn't enough. She was a beautiful, intelligent, warm woman with one hell of a sense of humor, and a bigger sense of duty. And most importantly; she was single. Why wouldn't she accept any man's offer for a relationship?
How long was he going to deny his feelings for her?
She clearly meant so much to him, that his erratic brain didn't realize that her being in the apartment when Foyet was stabbing him was a sign he was dreaming. It immediately jumped to the fear of watching her get hurt by his hands. She killed the man for Christ's sake! He had no idea she even existed, let alone was part of the team.
He had to get out of this bed. He didn't trust himself to stay there when she woke up; he didn't want to do – or say – something stupid.
He slid out of the bed with feline-like stealth, and made sure not to make any sounds as he grabbed his suit for the day, before walking into the bathroom.
The shower was the perfect place to hide, somewhere where he could be alone with his thoughts without any intruding eyes….her intruding eyes.
Yes, she never really intruded nor pushed for anything too personal from him when he didn't offer. But he always felt like she could see into his soul; that anything he felt was bare before her; that his deepest shame, regrets, fears, wounds, scars were all on display when she looked at him.
Rossi was right; what he felt for her wasn't simple gratitude for Foyet; and it wasn't some fleeting infatuation…. he had genuine feelings for her, and despite his best efforts, they were growing.
He emerged from the bathroom after about twenty minutes, and found his bed empty, with the adjoining door closed. He walked over to where his gun and badge were, and found a few bills tucked under the badge. He frowned as he took them, before he smiled. She realized he was the one who paid her back for lunch, and she gave him his money back.
He put the money back into his wallet, before he clipped his gun and badge onto his belt and grabbed his jacket. He headed for the door, as he slipped the jacket on, and with one final look into the elevator mirror, he prepared himself for the day ahead as he walked over to the in-hotel restaurant where the rest of the team were having breakfast.
The case was progressing quickly, which left him little room to think about the events of the night before.
He was finishing up a conversation with the Captain of the precinct, when he saw JJ and Amalya exit the ladies' room, and head for the conference room. He saw JJ's steps falter slightly when she saw him, and she lingered a little when she saw Hotch. He walked over to her once he was done, and she quickly glanced at the conference room, and found Amalya sitting with her back to the glass.
"Hotch, do you think you can get Amalya out of the room later? I need to talk to you and the team about something." She said gravely.
He studied the grave look JJ had on her face; it wasn't that she lost trust or faith in Amalya…. No, she was worried, she was scared for the brunette. His heart dropped as his brain went into overdrive with the worst possible scenarios.
"I'll see what I can do." He told her, as they both walked back into the room.
The minutes went by torturingly slow; Hotch was keeping a close eye on Amalya, but he didn't see why JJ would be so worried about her.
The opportunity presented itself about two hours after his conversation with JJ, he needed someone to walk through the original crime scene.
"I can go walk through it again," Morgan volunteered.
JJ was next to Hotch, so she nudged him covertly.
"Actually, Am, why don't you take Reid and do the walk through. See if a fresh set of eyes with the new information would provide anything new." Hotch spoke smoothly, making sure not to arouse Amalya's suspicions.
JJ had nudged him again when he said Reid's name, but he ignored her.
The two agents made their way out, and once they were out of earshot, Hotch turned to JJ. "Sending her alone would have been a little suspicious." He told her.
"What's going on?" Morgan asked, noticing how the two of them seemed to be sketchy.
Hotch looked over to JJ.
"Uuuuh, I'm not sure where to start." JJ said, as she ran her hand through her hair.
"Something wrong with Amalya?" Rossi wondered, noticing how JJ only spoke once the brunette was out of earshot.
"Is she seeing anyone?" JJ asked, and they all frowned.
"I don't think so. I mean it didn't seem like it that night at the restaurant." Emily told her.
"JJ, what is it?" Morgan pressed.
"Well, we were in the bathroom earlier, and she took off her jacket," JJ started. "And she has two large bruises on her arms." She added, as she pointed to the top of her own arms. "Like someone grabbed her forcefully." She explained.
It took everything in Hotch to steel his face when he realized that he gave her those bruises.
"Amalya!" Morgan was shocked. "I mean, she doesn't strike me as someone who would stay with someone like that." He spoke.
"Yeah, if she didn't shoot him, she'd walk away." Emily concurred.
"I thought you said Copts don't have pre-marital relationships." Morgan wondered.
"They don't have pre-marital sex." Emily clarified.
"Many women fall prey to abusive relationships no matter how strong they seem to their co-workers," Rossi stated. "Yes, she's not your classic type to even go on a second date with someone like that. But it doesn't have to be a boyfriend." He added.
"Did you ask her about it?" Hotch finally found his voice.
"Yeah, she was dismissive. Told me not to think about it." JJ stated.
"Ok, before we jump to conclusions, why don't we just ask her?" Emily suggested. "On the jet, on our way back, we can talk to her about it." She added.
"Sounds like a plan." Rossi exclaimed.
As the case progressed, Hotch often found himself thinking about what JJ said. He was sure those bruises were his doing, he grabbed her arms the night before, but he didn't realize he'd used enough force to bruise her.
He tried to get her alone to ask her about it, but there was always someone there.
He sighed in relief when the case came to an end, and they all headed back to the jet. They all exchanged knowing looks, and made sure Amalya was sitting around the table. Morgan and Hotch were sitting opposite her, and Rossi was next to her.
Reid, JJ and Emily took their own seats until the jet took off, before they moved closer to the small table the other four was around.
Amalya frowned at the team as they surrounded her, all exchanging looks with each other, but not with her.
"Guys?" she said in confusion.
"We wanna talk to you about something," Emily started.
"And we want to make sure you know that you're safe, and can turn to us for anything." JJ added.
"And if you're in any danger whatsoever, all you have to do is let us know." Morgan continued.
She frowned at their apprehensiveness, at their choice of words. What danger would she be in?
She frowned at the guilty look she saw in Hotch's fleeting gazes since he was purposely avoiding her gaze. The rest of the team's worry was evident, as well as their loyalty and protectiveness of her.
"Why don't you guys just tell me what's going on?"
"The bruises on your arm." JJ told her.
"If someone did that to you…." Rossi trailed off.
And it clicked. They thought she was being abused by someone; and her dismissiveness was textbook behavior of an abused person. She hadn't realized Hotch had bruised her, and when she took off her jacket to wash up that afternoon, she didn't notice the bruises until JJ pointed them out.
And now it made more sense why Hotch was avoiding her gaze, and why he had a guilty look.
"Ok, I truly appreciate how protective you all are, and I know that if I ever do end up in a situation like this, that person will have six very angry FBI agents to answer to, and ones whom I can always depend on to have my back." She started, her voice genuine, and truly touched. "I am not seeing anyone, and those aren't because I'm in an abusive relationship." She continued. "Someone did give them to me, however." She confessed, and Hotch's eyes snapped to hers.
Was she really going to betray his trust like that?
"Selim gave them to me," she lied, without missing a beat. "He was staying with me the past couple of nights, and he had a nightmare about one of the cases he worked before. I was trying to wake him up, and he grabbed my arms. I didn't realize they'd bruised until JJ pointed it out." She explained.
Hotch was very grateful, she held his gaze for a split second, and the silent promise in them made him fall even harder.
"Is he better now?" Reid wondered.
"He's fine, it was years ago. Sometimes it gets triggered, so…" she shrugged.
"As long as you're fine, and not covering for someone." Morgan pressed.
"I promise you that's the truth. It was a simple case of physical comfort after a nightmare." She assured him.