Author's Note: I was so happy to dip back into this world, I decided to put up another chapter :)

And in this one you'll see the angst of the situation starting to bubble up. Because of course this is going to be a messy ride, what would be the point otherwise? If you want straight fluff, you can go dig through the holiday one shots :)

Profiling the Past

Emily placed the small black cell phone on the nightstand as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Then she leaned over to brush her fingers through Hotch's hair.

He'd only been sleeping for about a half hour, and even though she figured he was likely still tired, unfortunately that was all the nap he was going to get.

"Hotch," she whispered, while stroking her thumb along his temple, "you have to wake up now."

It took a second, but then his lashes began to flutter. And a second after that, he looked up at her with a sleepy befuddlement in his eyes.

She felt a stirring of warmth for him.

This was a man who spent the majority of his waking life, a hard as nails, bad ass. When serial killers had nightmares, Aaron Hotchner was the thing that they dreamed about. But here he was in her bed, naked . . . vulnerable.

Real.

Getting to see him like that made her feel special. It made everything about this feel special.

"JJ called," she murmured as her thumb now slowly stroked along his jaw, feeling the light stubble there, "you have to call her back."

Although that was the reason she'd come back to her room two minutes after going downstairs to get a drink of water, seeing Hotch now all handsome and sleepy, all she wanted to do was climb back into bed.

It would be nice to get in a cuddle before they ate.

Hotch blinked slowly, trying to focus on Emily's words. It was a little hard to do when his body wasn't quite done yet with its sleep cycle. Finally he focused in on the key word.

JJ.

"JJ," he cleared his throat and blinked again, "did you talk to her?"

His voice was still husky with sleep.

"No," Emily shook her head as her hand fell off his cheek and down to his leg, "I didn't answer. I just heard it ringing when I went to down to get a drink." Her eyes flickered momentarily to the nightstand, "your phone's there. And if you want them," she reached down to retrieve the item she'd dropped on the rug. "I brought your boxers up too."

Her eyes crinkled slightly as she shook the black plaid material.

"I wasn't sure if you needed pants to feel authoritative on the phone."

Though she did hate to encourage him getting dressed . . . it would just be more to yank off again in an hour . . . she figured he'd probably want to at least have his boxers on for when they ate. And also, even if she would have enjoyed keeping him naked all night . . . there wasn't a hetero woman ALIVE who wouldn't enjoy that . . . it seemed likely that with her in the baby doll, he'd probably want to put on something, so that it wasn't her in "clothes," and him buck naked.

That would likely be perceived by him as a power shift thing.

Though he would probably be less inclined to interpret it that way, once he found out that she'd opted NOT, to retrieve her thong when she went downstairs. For the rest of the time that Hotch was in her home, she had no intention of wearing anything down below that was going to impede the process of digital, tongal, or penile insertion. Or in plain English . . . no underwear or pants for the rest of the night.

It would just slow down her orgasms.

One of Hotch's dimples popped out as he pushed himself up and the blankets fell to his waist. Then he leaned back against the headboard and rolled his neck.

"Thanks," he stifled a yawn, "but I actually don't need pants to feel 'authoritative.'" Then he added drily, "I can fake it when I need to."

Emily felt her lips begin to twitch.

"That's what she said."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she snorted, and then quickly slapped her hand over her face to cover up the bubbling laughter.

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment, his eyes wide with astonishment . . . and then he too burst out laughing.

"I can't believe you said that!"

Emily's laughter morphed to a sheepish giggle.

"Me either! But I was watching an Office mini-marathon the other night. I guess the joke got stuck in my head."

Then she snorted again.

"Good thing I just said that in front of you and not the boys," she shook her head. "They would have been busting my chops for weeks."

It would have been double entendres for WEEKS, just so they could work, "that's what she said" into as many conversations as possible!

"Oh, please," Hotch huffed while turning to pick up his phone from where Emily had placed it on the little table, "like I'll be letting you forget it either."

"Yeah, well," she asked with a raised eyebrow, "are you planning on bringing it up in the middle of the next police precinct just to embarrass me?"

Seeing the 'seriously?' look Hotch shot her, Emily knew the response there was a "no." And feeling another little wave of affection for him . . . Hotch's sense of humor was much more well defined than most people knew, but it was also never at anyone else's expense . . . she leaned forward to smack a quick kiss to his lips.

But then he caught her around the waist, and pulled her in closer.

One of her hands slid around his bare torso, while the fingers of her other hand pressed against his chest. And the quick little kiss, ended up going on long enough that she lost her breath.

That was becoming an occupational hazard when it came to kissing Hotch.

"So the uh," she panted slightly while pulling back, licking her lips, "um, phone call." She continued with a slightly breathless swallow. "Do you want me to leave while you talk to her?"

Hotch scrunched up his face as his hand slid down her back to settle on her hip.

"Why would I expect you to leave your bedroom, Emily?" He asked in confusion. "That would be ridiculous."

Then he moved his hand off her hip to pick up the edge of the blankets. "Here," he lifted them back, "come lie down with me for a bit. If we had to go wheels up, JJ would have been calling non-stop. And she also would have called you by now too. So," he flipped the covers over, "it can't be urgent. Most likely it's just a new consult."

Hopefully. Because this was the first night that they were 'officially' trying out their new arrangement. And given the constraints of their work schedules . . . he and Rossi had been called back out of town just thirty-six hours after he and Emily had gotten back from Connecticut . . . simply fitting in a night for 'decompression' (sex) had been much more difficult than he'd anticipated it would be. And now that having regular sex was an option for him again, the thought of NOT getting it when he'd planned to get it, was enough to seriously piss him off!

Emily started to crawl over Hotch to get to the other side of the bed. But then she paused, her eyes dropping down to linger longingly over his naked . . . now completely exposed . . . body.

All of his muscles were so lean and hard . . . her gaze shifted further south . . . and something else was a bit hard as well.

She wondered if that meant he'd been dreaming about her.

The thought made her happy. So much so that she wanted to reach out and stroke the semi-soft shaft, until it had again become the steel rod that she'd been deep throating downstairs. And then once she had him exactly the way she wanted him . . . locked and loaded . . . she could drop down onto his lap, and ride him like a bucking bronco.

Yippee ki-yay!

But unfortunately neither the stroking, nor the bronco riding, was an option right now.

For a few reasons.

One, they couldn't be having sex while he was talking to JJ (that would be creepy). Two . . . and more importantly . . . they couldn't be having sex while he was doing a serial consult (that would be straight out unseemly), and three . . . and this was also a big one . . . she was freaking STARVING!

Until she got some food into her, she wasn't going to have the energy for Hotch riding, bucking and otherwise.

So instead of reaching out to fondle her new favorite toy . . . and that was not just Hotch's penis, but the whole Hotch package . . . after one final, longing, pout, she just continued over him to the other side of the bed.

And then she was curling up at his side.

She placed her head on his chest, her leg she curled over his thigh, and her fingertips began lightly stroking along his abdomen. Next to cuddling on top of him, Emily had decided that this was her favorite non-sexual position with Hotch. Though of course non-sexual didn't mean not naked.

Everything with Hotch was better when they were naked. Except of course probably cooking.

That might be a little dangerous.

And after she had herself situated . . . and had placed one quick kiss on his collarbone . . . Hotch fixed the blankets back over both of them. Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm glad you didn't put that thong back on," He murmured while scrolling through his contacts.

Emily chuckled.

"Oh, did I flash you?"

"I saw less of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct." He stated flatly while pressing send on his phone.

Seeing the furrowed brow he got when Emily lifted her head, Hotch shot her a dimple.

"I only saw that movie once on cable, and have no desire to see it again." Then he winked, "but you can flash me anytime. Oh, hey JJ," his attention shifted to the call, "what's up?"

Emily's lips twitched . . . one of the dirtiest compliments she'd ever received, but . . . she leaned up to kiss his cheek . . . she'd take it.

And as he continued his call with their media liaison . . . fortunately it did just seem to be a consult situation . . . she put her head back down, and snuggled into his side. Though she could have gone downstairs to watch TV or start heating up dinner, that seemed counterproductive to the point of the evening.

Decompressing.

The sex was great, but there was nothing to say that they had to be screwing each other's brains out for EVERY waking moment that they were alone together. This stuff was nice too. Just lying there, feeling his warm body pressed against hers, and the hard muscles beneath her fingers.

And just like seeing him wake up in her bed with that sleepy, tousled look . . . it was real. And it was a reality that made her strangely happy.

But after a few minutes of listening to Hotch talk, Emily found herself starting to blink. And that was even though he was discussing a brutal home invasion out in southern Oregon. Apparently her brain could now tune out even the most disturbing of imagery. But that might have had something to do with the steady thump of Hotch's heart beneath her ear.

It was soothing.

So much so, that the next thing Emily knew, her lashes were fluttering open again to see Hotch staring at her.

He was stooped down next to the bed.

"How long was I out?" She mumbled while putting her hand up to cover a yawn.

His expression softened.

"About an hour," he whispered while reaching out to brush her hair back behind her ear, "it's a little before ten. You missed the whole call with the LEOs out in Portland. Three home invasions in the last thirty-six hours. Four dead."

Emily stared at him for a moment, her vision clearing. And then her lower lip popped out.

"So we have to go wheels up?"

There was no hiding the disappointment in her voice. Though ordinarily she didn't resent the travel demands of her job . . . the job was voluntary, nobody made her stay . . . she just wasn't in the mood to get up, strip off her sexy lingerie and pull on her (literal), Agent Prentiss armor. Because given the night that they'd actually had planned . . . making love for hours . . . the thought of going off to instead look at dead bodies, was gut wrenchingly depressing.

But then she saw Hotch shake his head.

"No," he continued softly, his hand stilling on her cheek, "no, they said they could handle it. They just wanted to run down their own profile with me to see if I could add anything to narrow the suspect pool."

Though he wasn't sure that they'd be able to wrap the case as quickly as they were hoping . . . they were hoping to catch the UNSUBs before any more blood was shed . . . they did seem to have a quality team out there. So he was keeping a good thought that they'd have somebody in custody by the end of the week.

If they didn't he was pretty sure they'd be calling again.

"So we don't have to get dressed and go sit on the jet for five hours?" Emily asked warily.

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"No," he shook his head, "we don't. We are still grounded. But you do have to get out of bed," he abruptly pulled the blankets back and reached out to take her hand, "because I'm starving, and the timer's going to ding in about five minutes."

Emily blinked in surprise as Hotch tugged her up.

"The timer?" She asked, as her feet sunk into the plush carpet, "so you were playing Batman and Emeril at the same time?"

Wow. While working a horrible case on the phone, he'd gone ahead and prepped dinner for them too. 'Domestic initiative' was an additional 'pro' quality that she had not been aware he possessed. Now she was thinking she might have to up the sex to three nights a week.

Four if he could bake too.

"It's called 'multi-tasking' Prentiss," Hotch responded drily as she looked up at him, "there were no capes or aprons involved. Once I realized that I was going to be stuck on the phone for a while, and that you were sound asleep. Very sound," he added with a faint crease to his brow, "and your breathing's starting to get a little raspy again by the way, you might want to take an allergy pill tonight, I figured I should get dinner in the oven."

"Do you do windows too?" Emily asked with a little smile.

"Perhaps," Hotch smirked, "if properly motivated." Then he kissed the top of her head and turned to pick up the flannel robe that he'd brought back upstairs with him.

"You need to put this on," he held it up for her, "I saw the belt sticking out of the dining room when I went down to get my clothes, so I figured you wearing it earlier. And although I am a huge fan of you in the little white nightgown and nothing else, I know that you'll turn into a popsicle if you try to sit and eat dinner in that outfit. And I'd rather you not get sick."

It was a little chilly with the air conditioning, which was why he'd pulled his boxers back on before he went downstairs. He figured he wasn't exactly going to look his most 'virile' and attractive if his testicles had shrunken up into tiny, (literal), snowballs.

No woman was looking for snowballs.

Emily bit her lip.

"Thanks," she murmured as she turned, slipping her arms into the sleeves and wondering how it was that this man who she wasn't even really dating could be so ridiculously good to her, and yet the last guy who took her out on an ACTUAL date, didn't even bother to open a single door for her.

And SHE got stuck with the dinner check!

Just then, feeling Hotch wrapping his arms around her so he could tie the little belt at her waist, thoughts of her last loser outing, were forgotten. Emily felt tears starting to pool.

Must be PMS'ing.

Her eyes fell shut for a moment. And feeling Hotch's head resting on her shoulder, and his hands clasped on her stomach, she felt warm . . . and safe.

The same sensations that she'd had the week before in Connecticut.

"Thanks for getting my robe," she whispered, while her fingers stroked along the curve of his wrist, "and thanks for letting me sleep while you got dinner ready."

"No problem," Hotch murmured back with a little nuzzle of her neck.

Though he knew that they needed to go downstairs and eat . . . the food would burn if he didn't take it out soon . . . still he stood there, holding her close and just enjoying the moment.

Given that this was only the third night that they'd spent together so intimately, this in itself was special. And it was something that he was still getting used to having again.

Simple human contact.

And by human contact, of course he meant more specifically . . . he kissed Emily's neck . . . female contact. The soft body, the smooth curves . . . the delicate fingers wrapped around his.

Emily was a woman of his own.

One that he could touch and hold and kiss, whenever he wanted to. Well . . . he felt a little tug of melancholy . . . at least on these nights that they were alone together. But even that was more than he'd had in forever, so he would take what he could get without complaint. And although this wasn't a romance, it was interesting how that didn't seem to matter to his level of contentment. It was just enough that . . . for these little pockets of time . . . Emily was his, and his alone.

It was enough to settle his soul.

So he slowly turned her around in his arms.

"I really like your perfume," he whispered, his hand coming up to brush the hair from her shoulder. "I meant to tell you that earlier, but," his lip quirked up, "I got distracted by this really hot girl, in a really tiny outfit, who started taking my clothes off."

Emily's eyes crinkled faintly.

"You like this tiny outfit, huh?" She asked while slipping her arms around his waist, "I'll have to remember to wear it the next time I'm going to be late for work." Then her lip quirked up, "though it might be a bit of a work out for the poor little thong, trying to hold my holster up all by itself."

Hotch's mouth started to quiver at the imagery of her wearing the skimpy outfit, with her holster on the side. But then he felt the quiver morphing to a full on smile, so he quickly put his hand up to cover his amusement.

Emily immediately reached up, and pulled his hand back down.

As she stared at him, her eyes now dark and serious, the levity was drained from the moment.

"What?" He asked in confusion, "what's wrong?"

In response to the question, she let go of his hand and went up on her tiptoes, to wrap her arms around his neck. Then she pulled him down into a kiss. It was long and deep, and after a moment he leaned back, lifting her from the carpet.

Though he didn't know why she'd kissed him . . . and why so passionately . . . it didn't mean that he wasn't still going to enjoy it all the same. And with her pulled up and against his chest . . . he bit back a moan as her tongue brushed against his . . . they had a better angle for oral exploration.

And although the kiss was intense . . . and lengthy . . . neither of them made a move to escalate things further.

They weren't looking for foreplay.

And after a few minutes, he slowly began to lower her back down to the carpet.

Once her feet were back on the ground, Emily finally broke off the kiss that she'd started a few minutes before.

As she pulled away, she could feel her breath coming in slow little pants. Hotch was still leaning down close, his breath mingling with hers. So she caught the hands he had resting on her hips. Then she wound their fingers together, and pressed her forehead against his.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his, "that there are parts of our lives that have never been up for discussion. And that there are parts of our lives that probably never will be. But," her eyes started to water, "if you ever want to talk to me about anything," her voice started to thicken, "anything from your past, anything at all, you can. I would never tell anyone," she squeezed his hands as her voice broke, "I promise."

Over the last few years, she had sometimes teased him about his reticence in laughing or smiling openly, but she knew now that she would never do that again. Because now when she saw him trying to cover or shut down, it simply made her heart ache.

And that was because of what happened in Connecticut.

They had stayed one more night to help with the body identification, and because it had been another hellish day, on the way back to the inn, they didn't even bother with a pretext that he would sleep in his own room. Even though they knew sex on the road couldn't be a regular thing, they were already in for a pound at the Dragonfly. And on that second night together, they didn't even take the time to eat first.

He was unbuckling her belt as she locked the door.

And after it was done, and she'd worked in a nice cuddle, he'd fallen asleep. But it was still early . . . barely ten . . . and they'd only had one meal that day, so she'd carefully slipped out of his arms so she could go pee and then see what was left from their little stock of food from Lorelai.

But then she'd stepped out of the bathroom, and the way the light was falling just so through the crack in the door, she'd seen the faint white and silvery scars on Hotch's back.

It was a strip of them crisscrossing. The marks were long, with even edges.

She'd seen those marks many times before in so many case files.

They were made by a belt.

And though she'd previously had her suspicions about something in Hotch's childhood, something that had planted the seeds for his reserved nature, and that terrible temper of his, she had never really known for sure.

And suspicions weren't the same as proof.

And seeing that proof that he had been beaten, and God only knew what else, had broken her heart. Beneath his hard shell, Hotch was such a kind and compassionate person, and all she could picture was him as a little boy. Probably shy . . . and gentle.

Sensitive.

And how that would have been beaten out of him.

Her appetite had been lost in the roiling acid that filled her stomach. So she'd climbed back into bed, wrapped herself around his sleeping form . . . and cried herself to sleep.

Fortunately Hotch hadn't woken up.

Because she could see now, from how his gaze had developed a slight sheen to it . . . just before it shifted away . . . that she had struck a nerve by alluding to his past. Alluding to things that weren't to be discussed.

At least as far as he was concerned.

And she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable . . . it would defeat the whole purpose of them getting together, if he felt like she was probing into things he considered private . . . so as his jaw tightened, she placed a soft kiss on his forehead . . . and then she let his fingers go. Let him go.

Let him have his space.

She moved back to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Please know," she whispered, her eyes on the carpet while her hands twisted into a tight ball on her lap, "that I'm not trying to pry. I wouldn't do that. I want you to feel as comfortable in my home, as you do in yours. But I um," her voice started to thicken again as she again flashed on those marks, "I saw them last week. And I just wanted you to know that I'm here. No matter what else happens," her voice caught, "no matter how long we continue this, or how it ends, I'll always be here," she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, "and you can always trust me."

She had no idea how he would react to what she was saying. In all honesty, she wouldn't be shocked if he picked up his clothes and walked out of the apartment.

Though she was praying that he wouldn't do that.

She wanted him to stay.

Hearing the emotion bleeding into Emily's voice, Hotch closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. This was the risk of beginning any type of personal relationship with another profiler.

They missed nothing.

It was clear to him from both her words and her tone, that she was talking about the scars on his back. And it was also clear from her level of upset . . . and her offer to talk . . . that she had made presumptions about how those scars had gotten there. And given her time in the BAU, and the terrible things that they saw in their files, her presumptions were probably correct. Yes, he had been abused when he was young. This was a fact of his life. A fact that he did not discuss.

With anyone.

And although his instinctual defensiveness would ordinarily make him push ANYONE away who even dared to step onto this forbidden path, at the moment anger and defensiveness weren't the dominant emotions filling him. Not with Emily's hands clenched so tightly in her lap, and the way she was biting her lip as she stared down at the carpet.

She looked much too fragile.

Though he couldn't deny that for a split second . . . when she'd started talking while she was holding his hands, and he'd realized EXACTLY what it was that she was talking about . . . he'd felt that panicked compression in his chest.

The need to flee.

But he pushed past it. Because he knew in his heart that Emily was just being kind. Just trying to help. His eyes started to burn.

She was just being Emily.

And Emily, in all of her sweet, funny, slightly neurotic, glory, was the person that was pulling him back from the brink. That darkness that he'd been sliding into for the last year, it wasn't quite so dark when he was with her. And he didn't want to lose that connection they were further strengthening with each night together.

But also . . . he bit his lip . . . it would be a cruelty to walk out and leave her.

She'd meant no harm.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to talk about his childhood either. That wasn't happening. And keeping that point in mind . . . his jaw started to twitch . . . there was another one to consider.

What the hell he actually was going to say to her.

Because he couldn't just leave her sitting there, looking so sad and alone.

It was making his stomach hurt.

So he tried to blink away the moisture in his eyes . . . it had been instinctual, she'd been cutting into sore flesh . . . and then he moved over to the bed.

But her eyes stayed fixed on the carpet.

"Are you angry with me?"

Her words were soft, hesitant . . . the pain in his stomach intensified. So he crouched down in front of her. His hands slid under the robe, and up along her bare calves . . . stopping when he got to her thighs.

"No," he murmured, his fingers pressing lightly into her soft skin, "of course I'm not angry with you."

At that, her eyes slowly shifted up to his, and seeing the tears that had pooled, and the pain on her face, his gut twisted again. Feeling an explicable pull . . . her unhappiness was something that had long ago become nearly impossible for him to ignore . . . he couldn't stop himself from leaning up to give her a kiss. It was soft and gentle.

He just wanted her to feel better.

When he pulled back, his gaze locked onto hers, but her eyes were still sad and watery. And as she stared at him, a tear began to slowly slide down her cheek. And then there was another . . . and another. And as they continued to fall in a steady little stream, suddenly his own eyes began to burn again. Because he knew then from the way that she was looking at him, that she wasn't crying because of that moment . . . because she'd thought that he might be upset with her . . . no, she was crying for the before. For the past that she knew he would never discuss.

She was crying for him.

And she was breaking his heart.

"Oh, sweetheart," his voice was heavy with emotion as his fingertips gently brushed along her cheek, catching her tears, "please don't cry. I'm fine."

All right, he had not meant to call her sweetheart there, but it was an emotional moment and he was feeling emotionally connected. He didn't think that she'd mind.

Or more importantly . . . he brushed another tear away . . . that she'd read anything into it.

Another tear slipped over, and Emily choked down a sob.

"I'm sorry for getting so emotional," she sucked in a breath, "and I really didn't mean to get into any of that tonight. I didn't mean to mention it at all. I just," her breath caught again as she looked down at him, the tears still slowly spilling over, "I was thinking about you. And how sweet you were being to me, and then I started thinking," she sniffled, "well, I started thinking too much." The back of her hand came up to wipe across her face, "I'm always thinking too much. And then I start talking too much. And I guess," she gave him a sad smile, the tears still pooling, "I don't always know when to shut up."

Hotch's brow darkened slightly.

"Hey," he reached up to cup her jaw, "I don't want you to shut up. And I know you only meant well. But I also don't want you to worry about me," he gave her a sad smile, "I'm a big boy now. It's my adult life that I'm trying to get on track. And you are helping me with that, Emily. Truly. I know it's only been a week but I . . ."

And he stopped for a second, wondering if sharing his real feelings this soon, was a good idea.

Or would she think that he was pathetic?

But then he again took in the red rimmed, watery eyes of the beautiful woman in front of him. She was staring with such rapt attention and focus, that he suddenly realized that there was nothing that he was going to say then, nothing he could do, that would result in judgment or ridicule from her.

Emily was a safe place.

So he finished his thought.

"Being with you," he continued softly, "I'm already finding that it's so much better than being without you. And I don't just mean the sex. I mean my life. You're making it better by sharing your time, and yourself. All this last week, no matter how shitty the day was, I had something to look forward to," he touched her cheek, "you. And getting to come here tonight, and seeing you at the door, looking so gorgeous and sexy, knowing that you did that for me, I won't forget that. And you'll never understand how much that meant," his voice started to thicken, "to have that again, somebody who just wants to be with me. So please believe me when I say that you could not ruin what we're doing by demonstrating concern for me or my past."

He leaned in then to give her a kiss.

"That's you being kind." He continued with a murmur against her lips. Then he pulled back slightly to tuck her hair behind her ear. "And it just makes me even more certain that you're the right person for me, right now, okay?"

Emily sniffled.

"Okay." Then she gave him a watery smile. "And you know I liked getting pretty for you tonight. Because what you were saying about just having somebody that wants to be with you, I feel the same way." She tugged on the top of the little white nightie, "I haven't worn this in at least a year, because it's been that long since I had anybody special to wear it for. But now we have this." Her eyes snapped back up to his, "I have you," she squeezed his fingers, "because whatever else this is, or isn't, it's definitely special."

Though they had gone into things agreeing that it wasn't a 'relationship,' she couldn't deny that their bond had already intensified just over the last week. So perhaps it was a relationship, of sorts.

It just wasn't one with a future.

But when she saw Hotch give her a little smile, that didn't seem to matter.

Now was enough.

"Yes," Hotch's eyes crinkled as he reached up to slip his arms around Emily's waist, "it's definitely special."

Then he pulled her down, half into his lap. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face into the curve of his throat.

Her breath was warm against his skin.

And although that was the moment he wanted to tell her something else . . . tell her that he had seen her scars too . . . he decided that it would hold until later. Because even though that was something that needed to be shared, he was afraid that it would make her cry again.

And he knew that she didn't need that right now.

So Hotch slowly pushed himself to his feet, pulling Emily up along with him.

Her arms were still around his neck, and her body was pressed against his. The flannel from her robe was tickling his stomach. And given how closely bonded he felt to her in that moment, his overwhelming desire was to just climb back into bed, strip her naked, and make love until they passed out again. But then Emily's stomach growled . . . and his eyes crinkled.

It looked like they were having dinner first.

"Sorry," she whispered as she tipped her head back, "I had a light lunch."

He looked down at her, his mouth beginning to quiver at the sheepish look on her face. Then he remembered her earlier words . . . and her earlier promise . . . and he smiled.

"Let's go eat."

A/N 2: There is a groundwork being laid here to carry them forward, and this is it. The arrangement was never going to be just about sex. And these scars they have, and the issues in their pasts that led to those scars, are coming up at a completely different time in their relationship, than the versions of them who were already 'in love' when they finally began sleeping together. Which is why they're dealing with these revelations differently here, and it's also part of what will bring them together down the road.

We'll also be going to New York with them. That will cover his maybe flirting with British Fake Haley, the two of them blowing up, and JJ's pregnancy reveal. So much angst on the horizon!