Author's Note: Direct continuation.

Sturm und drang ahead.

Prompt Set #30 (April & May 2013)

Author: Peter Blauner

Title Challenge: The Last Good Day

The Price of Happiness

Emily's jaw dropped open at Hotch's announcement about JJ, and for just a second, she completely forgot that she was upset with him.

"Holy shit!" She sputtered back in astonishment. And then her brow creased, "wait, are you sure? How did you find out?"

Hotch scrubbed his hand across his forehead.

"Oh, I'm sure all right," he muttered. "Will just showed up in the lobby downstairs. They had an," he waved his hand, "exchange, and she ended up blurting it out. It seems that she's almost into her second trimester."

His eyes shot over to hers.

"Did you know?"

"What?" Emily looked back in confusion, "no, I had no idea. I would have told you."

Though she really hadn't had a clue, Hotch's question was a valid one. This was HUGE news that had apparently been huge news for MONTHS, so how the hell had she missed it?! Even if she hadn't chosen to study human behavior for a living, just being women . . . and ones who spent the ridiculous amount of day and night time together that she and JJ did . . . she should have picked up on it.

Though . . . Emily's eyes fell to the carpet as she thought back . . . in retrospect, now she could see that there had actually been signs. JJ's recurrent 'stomach flu' earlier in the year, her switching from three grande lattes a day, to green tea smoothies . . . and she had put on a little weight over the last few months. Not a lot, by no standards could anyone consider her 'overweight,' but she was so tiny to start, that Emily had actually noticed she was a bit 'curvier' than she used to be. And yet . . . she rolled her eyes . . . somehow she'd been too blind to put all of those clues together.

Stupid.

As Emily stood there castigating her idiocy, she suddenly took conscious note of the incredibly attractive man standing three feet away from her.

Oh wait . . . she huffed to herself . . . that's right. She'd been somewhat preoccupied as of late with her own 'huge' news.

Hotch.

That's why she'd been so oblivious to JJ's condition. Her relationship with Hotch had been a major distraction. At first a happy one, and more recently . . . she felt a fresh wave of anxiety press into her . . . an upsetting one. But regardless of their time together being a point of happiness or stress, outside of her actual work, Hotch, and their quasi-relationship, had most definitely been the foremost thought on her mind since they'd first slept together.

Almost seven weeks ago.

God . . . she bit her lip as a shiver went down her spine . . . had they REALLY been together that long?! That meant this was the longest relationship (quasi or not) that she'd been in, in almost two years. As a wave of sadness washed over her, Emily's arms came up to fold around herself.

No wonder he was breaking her heart.

While Hotch was still contemplating this unsettling development with JJ . . . not that the pregnancy was unsettling, it was the secret, why hadn't she trusted him with it(?) . . . out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Emily begin rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

At that point he again took note that she was practically naked, and that he had seen the woman catch a chill fresh out of a hot shower even when he had her wrapped up in a flannel blanket. Feeling a wave of protectiveness rise up . . . his base need to make sure that she was well looked after was becoming a near constant in his life . . . he quickly slipped off his jacket and walked over to wrap her up.

But just as he was about to drop it onto her shoulders, she twisted out of his reach . . . and stepped away. Then he watched in confusion as she walked over to the bed and snatched up her own suit jacket.

She . . . somewhat angrily . . . yanked it on. And with her still facing away from him . . . and noticing the stiffness in her spine and the way her arms were crossed . . . Hotch's brow wrinkled.

"Are you upset with me about something?"

Though he knew that she hadn't been happy about him trying to sort out his anger issues alone, he'd made it very clear that wasn't a reflection on her, or his feelings about them continuing their relationship. The break was just so that he could get his head together.

That was all.

Emily spun around, her eyes wide in astonishment.

Was he freaking KIDDING her with that question?!

And even though she knew that she should keep her tongue . . . that too much had already happened that day, that week . . . she couldn't stay quiet. Not with that look on his face, like he couldn't possibly imagine what HER problem could be! Well, I've got a problem for you buddy! And it was most DEFINITELY a four letter word!

K.A.T.E.

But . . . she winced . . . she didn't want to pick a fight. And she knew that in that moment she was running way too hot to have anything approaching a 'rational' conversation about her feelings. So she made herself take a breath . . . and then another one. And although she knew that Hotch was watching her closely, even after she'd mostly calmed herself down . . . at least pushed the anger back into the little box . . . she said nothing. She still wasn't ready to speak.

She didn't have the words to ask the question.

Because she'd just realized the question that she needed to pose, wasn't one that was going to result in a 'rational' conversation. Nor was it one likely to lead to any kind of 'happy' conclusion. No . . . she swallowed over the lump forming in her throat . . . most likely she was just going to receive the official confirmation that Kate's reappearance in Hotch's life, was totally fucking up their arrangement.

And by extension her whole frigging life.

And Emily wasn't sure if, after the day that she'd already had, what with the dead cop shot right in front of her, if she was really ready to deal with that reality. Right now she was living in limbo. It sucked, and it hurt . . . so much . . . but she still had a tiny glimmer of hope pulling her along.

Asking the question could extinguish that hope completely.

But then Hotch reached out and touched her hand.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" He asked worriedly, with a little squeeze of her fingers. "Do you need me to get you something?"

She flinched at the endearment . . . sweetheart. It was like a kick in the stomach. And now she had to know what the hell was going on!

It was the only way to keep her sanity.

"Aaron," she sucked in a ragged breath, "are you . . ." she winced at the image in her mind, and quickly rephrased, "is there something going on between you and Kate?"

Her voice was strained . . . and tight. It actually hurt, physically in her gut, to think that he might say yes to that question. That he might admit that he had pushed her away, taken that time she had given him, and decided to spend it with someone else.

Someone from his past.

Simply the thought of him kissing her . . . let alone anything ELSE(!) . . . made Emily feel like throwing up.

Feeling his stomach flip, Hotch snatched his hand back from Emily.

"Wha . . . what?" He stammered, in shock, "what are you talking about?! Why would you ASK me that?"

Feeling hot tears begin to prick her eyes, Emily's teeth ground together . . . God, why did he have to prolong this?!

"Would you please just answer me, Aaron," she pleaded, "is there something going on, or not?"

For a moment Hotch looked at her with no expression . . . it was a shift from his shock of a moment before, and she was quite sure that the question coming flat out was a shock . . . and then she saw his jaw set. His arms crossed at his chest.

Classic defensive posture.

"I'm not answering that question." He responded flatly.

"What?" she sputtered in disbelief, "what do you mean, you're not answering my question?!"

"Just what I said," Hotch's jaw twitched, "I'm not answering your question, not until you answer mine. You tell me why you would you ask me that."

Even though pain and confusion had been Emily's overriding emotions for the last few minutes, as soon as Hotch pushed back . . . pushed her to 'analyze' the question, and the feelings behind it . . . the pain was all she could feel. And as those hot tears began to pool, she was just left with a burning hole in her chest.

The place where her heart used to be.

"Because you pushed me away," she started, her voice soft and sad as she tried to hide the tears about to spill over, "you told me that I had to go, that you needed a break to be alone, and I was trying to accept that. I mean," she shook her head, "you know I didn't really understand why you needed to work on things by yourself, but," her jaw tightened, "I wanted to be respectful of your wishes, so I was trying to give you that space. But then we got up here and you met up with Kate," her voice started to get thick, "again. And suddenly," her words cracked, "you didn't seem to need space anymore."

A tear slid down her cheek as her gaze fell to the carpet.

"It looked to me like your space issues were all resolved. All while I've been missing you, and worrying about you, and waiting for you to talk to me like you'd promised that you would. And I believed you, Aaron," her watery eyes shot back up to his, "I believed you when you said that we would talk. But we didn't. And then we got here. And you've been avoiding me, and huddled up with her, and then out of the blue you come in my room tonight and you take my hand and you call me sweetheart." Her voice broke. "Christ, Aaron, I'm so CONFUSED! And I don't know what's going on with you! And I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to THINK!"

Hotch looked over at Emily in disbelief. Waves of anger and pain were washing over him.

"Well for FUCK'S sake, Emily," he hissed, "what you're NOT supposed to think is that I'm cheating on you! That's what you're not supposed to think! I told you last week when you came to my apartment, that I wanted to stay with YOU! That I just needed a little time on my own to work some things out! And even if we don't have a 'traditional' relationship, we both clearly understood that it would be an EXCLUSIVE one! So how," his voice started to catch as the pain began to override the anger, "could you think something like that about ME? That I would actually be FUCKING around behind your back!" He shook his head, "Jesus, Emily!"

Then he paused for a second, his hand shaking, as he tried to blink away the tears burning his eyes.

"You know," he sucked in a breath, "I thought that we had something special," his voice began to get thick, "that you were somebody I could trust, but," he shook his head violently as the tears began to pool, "I guess maybe I was wrong."

His voice cracked on the last word.

He hadn't thought it would have been possible to feel any worse than he had the day he'd almost beat that man to death in the forest . . . he had been mistaken. Because this was a thousand times worse. The first woman since Haley that he allowed himself to get close to, and she did this to him.

Took his heart and stomped on it.

As Emily stared into Hotch's eyes . . . seeing the watery pools matching her own . . . she realized then that her question had actually devastated him. And seeing that reaction . . . the tears in his eyes, and the pain in his voice . . . suddenly she realized what an absolute FOOL she'd been for believing, for even a second, that he would do something like that to her! Because Hotch wasn't that kind of man. The kind that went from woman to woman looking for comfort in a warm bed.

It had taken him a year just to get from Haley's to hers.

And he was right, they did have something special . . . she felt a stab of grief . . . or at least they'd had something special! But now she might have ruined it with her mistrust. And trust was the ONE thing that Hotch did not bestow lightly! A sob started to rise up.

Oh Christ, what the hell had she done?!

"I'm sorry," she choked out as another tear trickled down her face, "you're absolutely right. It was a shitty question to ask. It was a shitty thing to even think," she scrubbed her hand across her face, "you would never do something like that, and I should have just trusted you."

Feeling the panic pressing into her gut, Emily's fists clenched as she took a step towards him.

"I'm so sorry, Aaron," she whispered while reaching out to brush her fingertips over his forearm, "please forgive me."

Feeling his skin burning where Emily was touching him, Hotch's jaw clenched as his eyes felt shut.

Even though he wanted nothing more than to just shake her off and get the hell out of that room, he knew that would be the worst thing that he could do. There would be no hope of salvaging ANY kind of relationship, personal or professional, if they didn't work this out now.

It would be the end of them.

And he didn't want that.

So he took a breath, and he made himself think back to the weeks that they'd spent together. Those hours cuddled up with her in bed and on the couch, and how she'd cried when she'd seen his scars . . . and devoted an entire day of her life to giving him a wonderful birthday. That Emily, his Emily . . . the woman who had started to repair his battered heart . . . had a sweet and kind soul. And even though they hadn't been physically involved for that long, simply by strength of a character he'd known for years, it wasn't anywhere in her nature to purposely be cruel. Which meant . . . he sucked in a ragged breath . . . that she had to have had a very GOOD reason for asking him such a HORRIBLE question! He slapped his palm onto his forehead.

He just couldn't for the fucking LIFE of him figure out what the HELL that reason was!

But still, when he opened his eyes . . . and saw the tears in hers . . . he tried to meet her halfway.

"I want to forgive you, Emily, I do. But please," he pleaded, his fists clenching at his side, "you have to tell me WHY, how, that thought could even enter your mind."

Emily's stomach was churning as she stared up at him.

She knew that they were teetering right on the edge, that if she said the wrong thing now that she'd lose him for good. And with the stress of that horrible future weighing on her . . . that simply by asking the question, she'd triggered a self-fulfilling prophecy . . . she burst into tears.

"Because she looks JUST like Haley!" She sobbed while pulling her hands to her chest, "and you call her 'Kate!' And, Aaron, you know that you don't call anybody by their first name, ever! Let alone women that you work with! And I was just so hurt, because at first you didn't want to see me off duty, and then we got up here and you didn't want to work with me anymore either. You just wanted to be with her. It was like," she sniffled and wiped the corner of her eye, "like you'd decided that you were all done with me." She brought her hand up to her mouth, "and I couldn't talk to you, so I just didn't know what to do!"

But he was absolutely right, what she should NOT have done, was assume that he was sleeping with her! Literally any other man, yes . . . but not him. She knew better, she really did. But the problem was, she hadn't been processing ANY of his behavior that week with her brain . . . she'd been processing it with her broken heart. It had started that night in Colorado. His initial distance had already been tearing at her, but then seeing him with Kate, seeing how NORMAL he was being with her, she'd been so jealous.

And hurt.

Mostly just terribly hurt. Thinking that maybe she'd never been as special to him as she'd thought she was. That he really didn't care for her the way that she cared for him.

But seeing how much she'd hurt him, she'd give ANYTHING to that question back!

Feeling his remaining anger washing away with Emily's sobs, Hotch bit down hard on his lip. Then he dropped down onto the edge of the bed.

His head tipped forward.

"I had no idea that's how you were seeing things," he whispered, his watery eyes locked onto the carpet, "because I have been missing you, Emily . . ." he swallowed over the lump forming in his throat, "every day I wanted to touch you, and I couldn't. And I did want to talk to you, but I couldn't do that either. Not here, not with this God damn case. It just wasn't the time. And with all of these things that I wanted to say, and no way that we could sit down and have a proper conversation up here, it was just easier to stay focused on the work if you weren't nearby. That's why I put you with Detective Cooper," he shook his head, "and I know that wasn't very professional, and I almost had a fucking heart attack when I heard about the shooting, but," he scrubbed his palm across his forehead, "at first," he took in a breath, "those first few days after Colorado, I mean, I really felt like I was losing my mind. And I needed that week by myself to figure some things out. With myself, and with us. And then I was going to talk to you that next Sunday, like I'd promised. I was planning on coming over after I dropped off Jack, but," he sighed, "then Kate called me while I was getting him packed up."

He looked back up to see Emily watching him closely. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were still red and watery.

But she did at least appear to be listening.

"She wanted to ask my advice about the case. And I had to put her off until I took care of Jack's drop-off, and then by the time I got home and called her back, I ended up getting stuck on the phone all afternoon as she started pulling in other members of the task force. Then the director called later, and we flew out that night. But Emily," he shook his head sadly, "I had no idea that I was hurting you that way. That you'd misinterpreted my distance as meaning that I had changed my mind about being with you," he started to get choked up again, "because I haven't. That was one of the things that I realized when we were apart . . . how much I've grown to need you."

Seeing Emily's chest heave as another tear slid down her face, he knew that they were finally reconnecting. So he swallowed hard . . . and then he slowly exhaled.

"And regardless of what it might have looked like with Kate," he continued, holding her gaze steady, "practically every conversation that I've had with her, has revolved around the case. And I only call her by her first name because I've known her years. She's like Dave," he sighed, "just an old friend. Somebody from my life before."

He paused for a second, trying to consider his recent behavior through a more objective lens.

Or at least a less cracked one.

"Though I suppose," he tipped his head, "maybe I was using her as a distraction too. Not consciously, and certainly not the way it seems that you thought I was. It's just," he bit his lip, "you know I've been so isolated from other people since Haley left, and Kate," he shrugged, "she was somebody that I hadn't seen in a while," his voice faded, "somebody different."

There were no complications in his feelings for Kate. Although she had made a bit of a pass at him the other night when he was dropping her off . . . she'd tried to kiss him when he walked her to her door . . . he'd simply turned his head, and stepped back with a murmur that he was seeing someone. She'd apologized, they'd said a bit of an awkward good night . . . and that was that. The next morning they'd pretended like it had never happened. And as far as he could tell, she'd only done what she had because she was stressed out and lonely.

A state of being that he could very much appreciate.

But no matter what happened with Emily, Kate would only ever be friend . . . just a friend and nothing more. And Emily, she'd become a thousand things to him. She wasn't just anything, anymore. And she hadn't been for some time.

Since long before they'd started sleeping together.

Emily bit her lip.

"Do you want to try somebody different?" She asked softly, trying to ignore the acid again churning in her stomach . . . it had only stopped a minute before. "Do you, do you, think that you need to," she closed her eyes, "sow some oats or something?"

Hotch's brow darkened.

"No," he stood up and walked over to where she was standing, "no, I don't want to sow any oats!" Then he scowled, "and I don't want Kate Joyner, or anyone else, I just," he took a breath, "I want you. You're the ONLY one I want." Then he took a breath. "And not for nothing Emily," he added with a confused shake of his head, "but given Kate's physical resemblance to the woman who just spent the last year tearing my life to shreds, how could you have believed that I'd actually have any interest in her at all? Do I really strike you as that much of a masochist?"

For Christ's sake, he might be carrying enough emotional baggage to rent a U-Haul, but he didn't have his head COMPLETELY up his ass!

Emily sniffled.

"No," she sighed, "no, you don't. But people gravitate towards carbon copies of their exes for a lot of reasons. And usually that's not a conscious decision." Then she sniffed again as she wiped the back of her hand across her face.

"Why couldn't you have just told me these things days ago?" She asked with a faint shake of her head, "I mean, really Aaron, I know the case has been taking precedence on our time, but," she bit her lip as she looked up at him sadly, "couldn't you have pulled me aside for two minutes just to tell me we'd talk when we got home? Couldn't you see how confused I was, and how awkward things have been with Kate? Really, what would you have thought if you were me?"

Hotch stared down at Emily for a moment before his gaze shifted over her shoulder.

He really did want to fix this, and he wanted it fixed with no residual resentment on either side. So he was making himself picture that week again. This time imagining their roles reversed. Imagining Emily closing herself off from him, so that she could work exclusively with an 'old friend.'

Someone that she knew from before.

And as he considered that alternate view, one where she avoided him to spend time with another man, he realized that not only would he have had feelings of jealousy, but he would have wanted that other man dead.

Full stop.

So when his gaze shifted back to Emily's teary one, as he'd hoped, whatever remaining hurt he'd felt over her question . . . was gone. His hand came up to cup her jaw.

"If I were you," he whispered, "I probably would have pushed her in front of a bus."

"Well, now you see where I've been all week," she replied with a pout. Then she took a deep breath . . . and slowly let it out again.

"So, do you forgive me?" She asked him quietly, "I mean, I'm still so sorry that I asked you that question, but," she bit her lip, "can you at least see where it came from?"

If they were moving forward, they needed a clean slate.

Hotch stared down for a moment, his hand falling down to the side as he really considered his response. Because it was all about trust. And trust was the essence of everything.

Or at least everything that mattered.

Finally he took a breath.

"Yes," he nodded slowly, "one hundred percent. Because after hearing things from your point of view, I can see now how poorly I handled this whole last week. So it was my fault that you misinterpreted the situation," he gave her a sad smile, "not yours."

Then he bit his lip as his hands came up to cup her jaw. He leaned down to press a kiss first to her brow . . . and then to her lips.

Break time was definitely over.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered with a nuzzle her cheek, "I should have made time for our conversation before we left home, and I should absolutely not have used Kate as any kind of excuse to avoid getting into things since we arrived here. It was thoughtless and disrespectful," he sighed, "and definitely not one of my finest moments." Then he pulled back slightly to look down at her.

His eyes were soft and sad . . . as was his voice when he spoke again.

"Do you forgive me for being a jerk?"

"Yes," Emily nodded and sniffled with a faint smile, "one hundred percent." Then she leaned forward to put her head on his chest. He immediately tipped his head down to rest against hers. And as she felt his arms come up to pull her in close, she closed her eyes.

This was what she had missed . . . him. Him being perfect and sweet.

And hers.

Mostly.

Every time she'd seen him with Kate, Emily had felt a stab in her chest, that cold fear that this woman was taking him away from her. That she was going to be left with nothing but a half broken heart, and some t-shirts on her dresser. But now . . . she rubbed her cheek against his chest . . . this was them as they were before.

Before he went away.

And she had no doubts whatsoever that there were still things to fix . . . Hotch himself chief among them . . . but again, that could wait until they got home.

This was enough for now.

And for almost a minute they stood there just holding each other, getting back to the place where they were before. And even though Emily was so thankful that they'd fixed the rift . . . and the initial miscommunication which had caused it . . . she couldn't help but wonder if this was simply them taking their finger off the pause button, or had they shifted things forward too? Was this them now moving towards a traditional relationship? Because it felt like it.

It really did.

And she wanted to ask him to confirm it, but she decided to keep the question to herself. It could wait until they got home. That point was probably part of the other things he wanted to talk about.

Or at least she hoped that it was.

And in the meantime, she at least wanted to make up for their time lost.

"Can you stay tonight?" She asked as she tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Um," Hotch bit his lip, considering the wisdom of such a decision. Because he really wanted to stay . . . Christ knew he thought that he was going to have sex last Sunday, and then Kate had called and thrown a wrench into those plans . . . but he wasn't sure if he should.

The whole team was on the same floor.

Fortunately though, the room closest room to Emily's . . . the one that was actually adjacent to hers . . . was his. And that had of course been by his design.

He hadn't wanted her too far away.

And then as he also considered the lateness of the hour, and the fact that he could slip out and back to his own room before anybody else got up . . . his door being literally three steps away . . . he decided to risk it.

"Yeah," his eyes crinkled slightly, "if you can find some room for me, I could stay."

Emily's lip quirked up . . . and now it was time to get them completely back to normal.

"Oh, I most definitely have some space for you to fill," she responded with a saucy eyebrow. And seeing his lips twitch right before he smirked, "so dirty," she felt that soft warmth filling her chest.

Happiness.

It had been fourteen days since she'd been "happy." Such a simple emotion, one that was so easily lost . . . and so easily taken for granted.

She wouldn't let that happen again.

And as she leaned up to kiss him, she felt his hands slipping inside her open jacket. One falling to her hip where his thumb immediately hooked into the fabric of her underwear, and the other moving up to lightly caress her bare breast.

She began to fumble with his belt even as she smiled against his lips.

"Okay," she mumbled against his lips, "make-up sex will commence in five . . ." she whipped the belt out, "four . . ." she yanked his zipper down, "three . . ."

She couldn't get the rest of the countdown out . . . she couldn't get his penis out either . . . because Hotch was laughing so hard that he had to break away. And when he dropped down onto the bed, wiping the tears from his eyes while he tried to stop laughing, she looked down at him with a little grin.

"Did you miss me?"

He looked up, his lips still twitching with amusement even as his expression softened. He shook his head.

"You have no idea how much."

/*/*/*/

Emily's make-up sex countdown continued shortly after it was broken off. And make up sex with Emily . . . Hotch quickly determined . . . was ranking up there with one of their top three nights yet. It was so good in fact, that he ended up 'making up' with her until almost three in the morning. And although he knew that he was going to be exhausted the next day, he didn't care. Most likely he would have been exhausted the next day anyway . . . cases like this, ones with high body counts, tended to give him insomnia . . . and if he was going to be up for most of the night anyway, he'd sure as hell prefer it to have been because he was making love to a beautiful woman, and NOT because he was sitting there like an idiot going over a case file that he'd already read ten times.

So when he finally fell asleep with Emily's naked body cuddled on top of his, he had zero regrets.

Although when his phone alarm went off two and a half hours later, he did have one regret . . . that he hadn't set the damn alarm for six. And even though he was able to turn it off before it woke Emily too . . . she was now curled against his side . . . he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.

Given the inadvertent torture he'd already put her through that week, he was afraid that maybe some small part of her . . . the less self-assured Emily that he increasingly felt so protective of . . . might think that perhaps he was avoiding her again. Like he'd just cleared the air last night because he'd wanted to get laid, and now things were going to go back to the way they were the day before.

And unfortunately . . . to some degree . . . that was true.

Not that he'd ONLY wanted to get laid . . . getting to have sex last night was a very unexpected gift . . . but that things at work were of course going to have to go back to exactly how they'd been the day before. Their interactions on duty had to remain completely detached and professional. Which . . . as Emily would say . . . sucked.

So yeah . . . he tipped his head down to kiss her temple . . . it probably was best that he wake her up now.

"Emily," he whispered while shifting her in his arms, "I have to leave now, sweetheart."

It took a second, but then her eyes slowly began to open. And in the grey morning light seeping in around the curtains, he could see her blinking in confusion.

"Smorning?" She mumbled, and his eyes crinkled faintly . . . he'd almost forgotten how cute she was when she was half asleep.

He patted her hip.

"Yes," he murmured back with another kiss, this one to her forehead, "it's morning. And I have to go back to my room."

Seeing her blink then just before her gaze shifted up . . . there was awareness in her eyes now . . . he rolled them over so that she was beneath him. Then he leaned down to give her a proper good morning kiss.

That one was on the lips.

And although a kiss was all that he'd planned, at that point Emily had woken fully, and she clearly had other ideas on proper morning greetings.

And her ideas were much better than his.

Because as his tongue gently explored her mouth, her body rose up, pressing into him. Not just her breasts, but he could also feel her soft curls and her warm heat rubbing against his, until that point, slightly lackluster, morning erection. But as he felt himself hardening, his hands slipped down from her hips, to cup that beautiful ass. He squeezed and pulled her closer . . . and she began to grind against him until he'd definitely reached 'full salute.'

They were about as close as they could be . . . he hitched her up a little higher to work a bit more friction. . . without him actually slipping inside of her.

And then her arms snaked around his neck as she pressed against him again.

"We can be really quick," she mumbled with a nibble to his lower lip. And he pulled back slightly, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he looked down at her.

"But can you be really quiet?" He asked with a faint smirk, "that's the actual question."

Though he did love to listen to her come, unfortunately Emily's 'vocal exuberance' during sex wasn't exactly conducive to what one would consider a 'clandestine coupling.'

Last night she'd bitten through his tongue when she was trying to be quiet . . . it was an unusual battle injury.

Emily blushed slightly, a sheepish grin sliding across her face.

"Probably not. But," her eyes twinkled with amusement as she slipped her hand down to give him a light squeeze, "if you don't mind a few more little love bites," she smirked, "and I promise that I've had all my shots, then I'm sure I can stay quiet enough."

And then she began to stroke him, feeling his tip now rubbing directly against her clit.

She already had a nice little hum going down there, and they'd barely even gotten started!

And when she looked up, she saw that Hotch's eyes had gone almost black with desire . . . that was always a good sign for her.

"Very, very quick," Hotch whispered, his breath starting to catch as he reached down to pull her hand away, "we have to set a world record here, okay?"

They only had maybe fifteen minutes, so with his free hand he slipped his fingers into her warmth, stroking and caressing.

That definitely meant that they needed to ram the quick into 'quickie!'

Feeling Hotch's fingers slipping inside her, Emily grinned as she wriggled against him.

"I have complete faith that you can get us both to the finish line in . . ." her breath started to catch, "rec . . ." she bit down on her lip, "damn."

The last word came out in a hiss and her eyes fell shut.

Then she began to pant.

There was one spot, a spot Aaron had found weeks ago, that if he stroked it in JUST the right way, it made her incapable of speech.

Or cohesive thought.

And that was the spot he was stroking now. And whatever point she was trying to make was suddenly lost in a wave of white light.

It kept growing and growing, the waves of pleasure expanding out from her core.

And though her muscles locked down around Hotch's fingers, he quickly slipped them out. For a brief second she moaned with the loss of his touch . . . but then he was back.

Though she knew from the heat . . . and the width . . . that it was no longer just his fingers filling her. But her body, as it always had before, immediately adjusted to allow him entrance.

"You okay?" He whispered with a kiss to her throat . . . and then another to the curve of her breast . . . and when she nodded, it was a ragged move . . . again, not really up with the higher brain functions . . . he started to move.

The spot that was previously being stimulated by just his fingers, now had a whole other not so little friend pressing into it. Her orgasm continued to rocket through her body. And she realized then, that's why he'd started the way that he had . . . to be sure that she'd be coming before he'd even gotten one stroke in.

And once he'd begun those perfectly timed, rhythmic thrusts . . . slowly, in and out . . . that one spot was no longer the primary recipient of his 'special attention.'

He was driving her out of her MIND!

With a soft moan, her arms moved up from his torso to wrap around his neck. And as he kissed her again, she shifted her left leg to hook around his back . . . she pushed up . . . and they both gasped.

There was no longer any space at all between their bodies.

He'd just slipped in all the way.

And for a second he froze, locked in the kiss before he pressed his forehead against hers. He took a slow breath . . . and then another . . . and then he began to move again.

And though she'd expected that he would go fast . . . he didn't. Instead it was the same rhythm as when he'd started . . . slow, counter clockwise, swirls. Even though they had no time, he was making it last as long as he could. Her eyes started to water.

"I've missed you," she moaned into his ear as her pleasure began to crest again, "so much."

"I missed you too," he panted back, his hips continuing to rock as he moved his head to steal another kiss, "and just like I told you last night," he murmured breathlessly against her lips, "I promise that when we get home, we'll have a much longer . . ."

And then he gasped as she hit another peak.

Ah fuck! She'd just locked her muscles down around him . . . and she felt AMAZING! And so he gave up attempting to speak . . . though they had a needed conversation on the horizon, at the moment talk was COMPLETELY overrated . . . instead focusing totally on the task at hand.

He just kept moving with the same slow and steady thrusts, listening to Emily's breathless moans and pants. They were getting shorter and shorter as she began to approach another orgasm.

Her third.

Though faster would ordinarily be the approach for a quickie, with Emily's body . . . and the multiples he was capable of eliciting with just the right sequences of touches, and today the sequence was RIGHT on target . . . he didn't need that extra 'exertion.'

Though exertion was rather a ridiculous word.

But making love to Emily was so much better than just 'ordinary' sex. Not that ordinary sex wasn't pretty God damn great, but . . . his own breath caught full stop again . . . with those multiple orgasms of hers, as long as he kept them going . . . kept hitting all the right spots . . . it was like moving inside his own personal vibrator. Not only was she hot and tight to start, but when the shock waves were moving through her body . . . and his goal was to KEEP them moving through her body . . . every stroke during that time, compounded his personal pleasure ten-fold.

Basically 'pistoning' was not a necessary component to a speedy . . . and pleasurable . . . release.

So he just kept going with the same pace for some minutes longer. And when he felt his own crest building up to the final pitch, he added a light caress to her swollen clit.

She immediately began to buck up against him, trying to smother her cries against his chest . . . and from there . . . he picked up the pace.

Pounding over and over, hard and fast, the sweat running down his back as she tried to muffle her screams.

Home stretch for both of them.

And with Emily's efforts to not wake the entire floor . . . thank God it was so early . . . Hotch knew that he was going to be covered with love bites . . . at least once she'd drawn blood . . . but that didn't matter. Nobody would be seeing him naked but her.

And then finally . . . with a flash of light . . . he came.

It was hard . . . and violent. And as he swore and filled her with . . . one . . . two . . . three, eye rolling, nearly spastic strokes . . . he heard Emily almost sobbing his name. This time he covered her cries with a crushing kiss.

That time she avoided biting his tongue.

Her body was still shaking as she came again . . . and again. And even after they'd both stopped moving and he'd clutched her to his chest, she continued to vibrate around him. Almost like she couldn't stop, and as he heard her mewling against his throat as she wrapped herself around him . . . continuing to share that pleasure . . . he SO wished that they could stay in bed all day.

But they couldn't.

And when he felt her body finally settle against him . . . she was clearly spent . . . he took a breath. And then his gaze reluctantly shifted over to the clock by the bed. It was almost ten past six.

Shit.

"We went a little over on the clock," he whispered with a soft kiss to her swollen lips, "so I really have to go now." His brow inched up, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," she grinned, "I'm very okay." Then she huffed, "those aftershocks really are time suckers."

His mouth quivered.

"Yeah, well," he laughed and kissed her again, "I'm very okay with those aftershocks. You should add them to your c.v. under 'special skills'."

With her then giggling against his lips, he finally slipped out of her. And after one last hug, he let her go . . . rolled over . . . and dropped his feet to the carpet.

And though he was still feeling pretty God damn great . . . sex endorphins were the best way to start the morning . . . still he paused for a second to scrub his hands down his face. He was psyching himself up for the day ahead.

It was going to be another bad one.

But then he felt Emily's arms slide around his torso, and her soft breasts press against his back. She kissed his shoulder.

"Come back tonight," she said softly, "I know we can't get in the habit of this on the road, but," she sighed, "we both know it's going to be a shitty day."

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he squeezed the hand she had pressed against his stomach.

"Okay," he whispered, "I'll come back tonight.

The woman was so good at reading his mind. And with that he patted her hand and pushed himself to his feet. And after one final roll of his neck, and stretching of his back . . . the years were catching up with him . . . he hurriedly yanked on his boxers from where they'd fallen next to the bed. Then he walked over three feet to get to the next article of clothing.

His pants.

As he pulled them up, his badge and keys fell to the ground with, respectively, a thump and a clatter.

Yeah . . . he sighed as he leaned down to pick them up . . . it was definitely going to be one of those days.

After he'd tucked everything into his pocket again, and had zipped up, he started looking around for the rest of his clothes.

That's when he saw that Emily had already gathered them together. Though . . . his eyes crinkled slightly as he saw her coming around the bed . . . she was apparently stealing his t-shirt.

It was currently clinging to her lovely curves.

"Here you go," she walked over with a smile.

In addition to her wearing his undershirt, his necktie was hanging around her neck, his jacket was folded over her arm . . . and his dress shirt was dangling from her fingers. His lip quirked up.

She was definitely the prettiest hangar he'd ever seen.

And he simultaneously leaned down to give her a thank you kiss and take the shirt from her hands.

"As I'd tell Jack," he said with a faint smirk while sliding his arm into the first sleeve, "good helping."

Emily chuckled as she pulled the tie over her head.

"Thanks," then her lip quirked up as she thought back to the prior weekend, "he really is a cutie. I didn't get to tell you that day because, well," she rolled her eyes, "you know."

Yes, good one Em, she thought with a faint note of annoyance, let's mar the good post sex talk by harkening back to one of the most recent, PAINFUL, conversations they'd had since they got together.

Smooth.

Hotch paused in buttoning up his shirt, his expression softening as he reached over to pick up Emily's hand.

"I know," he whispered with a light squeeze of her fingers, "and I'm sorry that day was so awkward, but things will be different when we get home. I know that there are still things to talk about with us," he gave her a look, "important things. And I promise, we'll do that on Sunday," he tipped his head, "well, you know, if we're home. If not then, the first full day back, we'll have dinner."

Christ, he hoped they'd be home by Sunday. This case was sucking the life out of him, and he wasn't sure how he was going to get through another week there. Especially given that would mean a lost Jack weekend.

And even if he did have Emily back now, missing Jack time was not going to help his mental state.

"Sounds good," Emily responded with a soft smile as she leaned up on her tiptoes to drop the tie over his head, "and hey," her hands fell back to her hips, "maybe I'll be super domestic for our big talk and buy a roast or something."

Given all the little hints he'd been dropping since they'd talked last night . . . not to mention all the "sweethearts" and the Hotch initiated cuddling . . . she was almost positive that he was going to ask her if she'd like to shift the parameters of their arrangement from 'straight affair,' to 'real relationship.' This was a conversation that she was dying to have, because her response was going to be, "yes, absolutely one hundred percent, let's do it! Here's my key!"

Or you know, something slightly less, 'Fatal Attractiony.'

Hotch's mouth began to quiver.

"No offense, Emily, but, uh," he cleared his throat, trying to hide his amusement, "can you cook a roast?"

To date he hadn't actually seen her 'cook' anything besides an English muffin. Though to her credit, it did come out perfectly.

"Well," Emily pouted, "no, but," she nodded firmly, "I can strip a nine millimeter with a blindfold on, so I'm sure I can follow a recipe."

"Yes," he started to chuckle while tucking in his shirt, "because clearly those are comparable activities!"

God . . . he felt a faintly melancholy pang in his chest . . . how had he gotten by for almost two weeks without her? Even though he stood by his decision to take the break because it had been the only way for him to deal with what had happened in Colorado . . . he'd decided it was time for him to see a therapist about his anger issues . . . he'd still missed her terribly! And actually seeing the extent of his distress over just temporarily cutting her from his personal life . . . it felt like he had lost a limb . . . made him realize just how much she'd come to mean to him. That's why he wanted to have the bigger talk. He wanted to see, now that he was going to start therapy for his deeper emotional problems, how open she'd be to them trying out a more 'traditional' relationship. So he was really hoping they could work that out on Sunday. Another reason to get home as quickly as possible.

It was something to look forward to.

Though Emily tried to shoot Hotch a scowl for his mockery, she was just too happy hearing him laugh, to even try to stick with it. They'd both been stressed and tense for so many days . . . and him for so many months . . . that from there on, she decided that she'd take any opportunity she could for a glimpse of those dimples.

So she just smiled and swatted his chest.

"Keep that up buddy, and you'll be getting my special meatloaf instead!"

Hotch shot her an eyebrow.

"You know it's a felony to make death threats to a federal officer," then he winked and leaned down to press a kiss to her twitching lips.

"Just teasing," he whispered before pulling her into a hug. Then he patted her bare bottom.

"Okay," he leaned back, "now, I really, really have to go or we're going to be leaving for work dressed like this," he smirked, "and you're probably going to need pants today."

"Yeah," she laughed, "it'll be hard to find a place to keep my gun without them!"

And after Hotch smiled and kissed her forehead one last time, he let her go to go pick up his phone and gun off the dresser. And then his shoes and socks from where they'd scattered around the room.

He started for the door.

"I'll see you downstairs in a half hour," he called back softly just as his hand fell to the knob.

Her eyes crinkled as she put her hand up to blow him a kiss.

"Bye, hon," she whispered with a little wave of her fingers.

And then she watched as he shot her a wink before he poked his head out the door. Apparently the hall was empty because he quickly slipped out without another word.

For a moment she stared at the closed door, a faint smile on her face as her fingers clenched the soft cotton of his shirt. Then she took a breath and slowly pulled it off over her head.

Time to go back to work.

/*/*/*/

For obvious reasons, Emily's Wednesday went a hell of a lot better than her Tuesday. Of course the case was still a nightmare . . . another series of attacks . . . and Joyner was still a ball busting ice queen . . . she and Morgan had another run in over manpower . . . but still, it was better. Because of Hotch.

Because he was hers again.

And it was truly ASTOUNDING, what a difference that made to her mental state. Not just that hearing him say the word, "Kate" was no longer like a kick to the stomach . . . she now heard it like she did when he said Dave, as simply a person's name . . . it was more than that. Having him, it made the hard stuff less horrible. And although for obvious reasons they couldn't be 'demonstrative' on duty, he still found little ways for them to connect throughout the day. The back of his hand brushing against her wrist as they sat in the briefing, his fingers gliding over her shoulder as they walked through a doorway . . . a wink from the across the room.

Such little things, so little in fact that nobody else would even blink if they were staring right at them while they were happening . . . but it was enough.

And that connection was the only thing that kept her eyes dry that afternoon when she found herself standing over the body of the eighth victim of the LDSK.

A ten year old boy.

His mother was screaming from behind the yellow tape, "my baby, my baby . . . the bastards killed my baby." It was one of those soul crushing moments that Emily had experienced so often on the job. She was breathing in someone else's grief and despair . . . it was enough to make her want to weep.

But then she looked up.

Hotch was standing on the other side of the body, and she could see that his fist was tightly clenched, and his jaw tighter still. But then his gaze shifted up from the bloodied body of that child, and over to hers. And for just a second . . . his shields fell down. That naked grief and anguish, all of the pain that he always kept hidden away from everyone . . . it was visible in his eyes.

He was sharing it with her.

Perhaps for 'regular' people, sharing such a thing might have been a perversity . . . but not for them. Because it was their job . . . their life. And usually, when they were all out together . . . it was when they were most alone. But for those few seconds when he looked at her, looked into her, she knew that things with them really had changed. He was letting her into his little fortress.

Then he blinked.

And it all went away . . . but somehow she could still see it. Even when he started calling out orders, and walking around and examining the scene, he was still with her.

Their threads had finally woven together.

It was like that all day, and into the evening. She could feel him no matter where he was, though admittedly he didn't stray too far away.

Even inside the federal building.

Though their UNSUBs, to date, had only made one direct attack against a member of law enforcement . . . poor Detective Cooper . . . there was nothing to say that they wouldn't come after them again. So basically he was within yelling distance at all times, just in case something happened.

Never could be too careful with a case like this.

And it was just after nine thirty that night . . . the bullpen area was still bustling . . . when Hotch caught her eye and tipped his head. So Emily politely excused herself from the conversation she was having with Reid and JJ . . . they were still searching for some pattern to victimology . . . and started over to the empty doorway that he'd just walked through.

Ahead of her she could see him heading down the busy corridor, and then he stepped through the faded red door leading to the stairwell.

She was six paces behind him.

And as she stepped through into the brightly lit landing, he caught her around the waist, pulling her back behind the door . . . and into a searing kiss.

It wasn't until she heard an echo of voices and footsteps from a lower level . . . they were on four . . . that he broke it off with a gasp.

Feeling her heart racing and her blood pounding even as she heard the other people disappear again . . . she quickly reached up to wipe her thumb across his mouth.

The last remnants of that morning's lip gloss.

"Best stairwell mauling yet," she murmured with a little smile, and his eyes crinkled slightly.

"Under the circumstances," he tugged her back to his chest, and tucked his head down next to hers, "I'll take that as a compliment."

And then he said nothing more. He just held her close and she closed her eyes and listened to the steady thump of his heart. Finally she felt him take a breath . . . a deep one . . . and then he slowly exhaled.

"I want you to go back to the hotel with Dave and the others."

Emily tipped her head back to look up at him in confusion.

"Where you are you going?"

"Kate has to give the mayor a briefing at ten," he started to explain, "and she asked me to go with her so that she wouldn't be the only target in the room." He sighed, "but it shouldn't be longer than a half hour, if that. Then I'll drop her off at home and head back to the hotel."

"So," Emily's brow wrinkled, "like around eleven?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, there abouts."

"Okay," with a sigh she put her head back on his chest, "I'll order some room service, and we can eat when you get back."

They hadn't had time for an evening meal break, because there had been another attack during rush hour . . . a pipe bomb left in a taxi . . . so the last meal they'd had was around two. Scarfed down sandwiches from the deli on the corner.

Her stomach had been rumbling since seven.

"All right," Hotch rubbed his hand down her back, "sounds good." Then he took a breath and let her go.

"Okay," he squeezed her fingers, "I have to run, but I'll give you a call when we finish with the briefing."

Emily's expression softened.

"Okay," she pouted, "good luck."

Christ, he was going to get crucified. It was day eight . . . four for them . . . and they still hadn't gotten this shit under control. That wasn't their fault, because again, eight million people and a dedicated task force of only fifty, but at this point nobody really gave a shit about the fault. If the body count continued to go up, heads would start to roll.

Emily was just praying that Hotch's wouldn't be one of them.

"Yeah," Hotch sighed, "thanks." Then he leaned down to give her one more quick peck on the lips before he turned and put his hand on the door handle.

He turned the knob and stepped back.

"You go this way," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "I'm going to run down the stairs. I told Kate I'd meet her out front."

"All right," Emily nodded as she caught the door he was pulling open, "see you in a bit." He gave her a little wave, and just as he started for the stairs, she called out.

"Aaron?"

His eyebrow inched up as he turned around.

"Yeah?"

She stared at him for a second, before she walked over and gave him a hug.

"Be careful," she whispered. And before he could react beyond putting a hand on her back, she'd stepped away again. Then she hurried over, catching the fire door with her fingers just before it slammed shut.

She didn't look back again.

/*/*/*/

Almost ninety minutes later, Emily was sitting cross legged . . . still fully dressed . . . in the middle of her hotel room bed. Off in the corner, the TV was on mute. Her attention was shifting back and forth between reading the crawl on CNN, and flipping through her notes for the day. She was still hoping that victimology would lead them somewhere. Because if it all continued to be completely random . . . she sighed . . . they were screwed. And she was just about to start cross checking the victims' parents' places of worship, because hell, why not, when her cell began to ring.

She reached over to snatch it off the night stand, her eyes crinkling when she saw 'Hotch' flashing on the screen. She dropped her pen to the bedspread as she pressed the green button.

"Hey," she answered softly, "you on your way?"

Hotch paused in the middle of the sidewalk, watching Kate just ahead of him continuing down towards the Suburban at the end of the block.

"No," he sighed, "not quite. We just got out of there, walking to the SUV, so I'll be probably another half hour. I still need to drop off Kate, and there are a lot of roads blocked off. As it is, we had to park three blocks from city hall. We're almost back in Federal Plaza."

The whole city was a series of tiny fortresses right now. Every key landmark, government building, hospital, and school had layers of hard core security around it. And unfortunately he couldn't run lights and sirens through those dozens and dozens of barricades, just to drop a colleague off back at her apartment.

They'd end up on the front page of The Post.

"Okay," Emily bit her lip as she turned to look at the alarm clock . . . ten fifty-seven, "well," she stretched out her leg, "whenever you get back, just knock. I'll be up." Then her voice perked up slightly. "Oh, and I got us better dinner than room service. I remembered there was a good Italian place within walking distance, so I ran out a half hour ago. I got us both chicken parm," her lip quirked up, "the maitre d' said it was quote, 'piping hot,' and they're all wrapped up for whenever you get here."

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"That sounds great, thank you, sweetheart," he whispered with a faint smile. But then he quickly sobered when he saw Kate now standing under the streetlight next to the SUV.

Even from the slight distance he could see that she was giving him a 'look'.

So while mouthing a 'sorry' to her, he started walking again, fumbling in his pocket as he closed the remaining few car lengths.

"All right," Hotch pulled his keys out with an audible jingle, "we're just leaving." He looked down to slide his thumb over the alarm, "I'll see you in a bit."

Emily had just started to respond when he pressed the button for the door locks . . . and before he could take another step . . . Hotch felt himself being pelted with hot metal and shards of glass.

It felt like his skin was on fire.

And then he was flying through the air . . . and then there was a wall.

And then the lights went out.

A/N 2: And . . . Hotch goes boom. Also, remember, this is not canon, so we shall have to see what his injuries are here. It's strange how your inclination (terrible writing though it is) is to write 'boom' somewhere to describe an explosion, even though, no. But still your fingers want to type it. Probably years of watching Road Runner cartoons, "sticks labeled TNT + Boom! = little black smoke in the face, you'll be just fine." :)

So I had very particularly stayed out of Hotch's head for the last week JUST so you'd have no idea what decisions he'd come to while he was 'working stuff out.' And I think Hotch, enlightened as he is about psych counseling, would (at this stage where he's trying to pull his life together and has an opportunity to maybe have a new relationship) be open to the idea of working on his anger issues with a therapist. It's not like canon where he was depressed and isolated. He's got 'motivation' to try and get this shit together sooner than later. And I wanted Kate to have made a pass at him, (because of her clear dislike of Emily, Emily didn't read that wrong) but for him to have totally waved it off as not even something worthy of his attention because he's so focused on Emily. And then basically that Hotch and Emily's whole week had been a male/female brain, complete miscommunication as to what was actually happening. Hotch just being oblivious that she could have misinterpreted his behavior because, to him, he'd already made his intentions clear to her the week before and it would never have occurred to him that she could get off track from there. Oh, men. *Headshake, headshake.*

So, they made up, they were happy for about fourteen hours . . . and then he blew up. They're not having a good month. But, for plot point purposes, they had to resolve that drama, before they moved into this next one. Otherwise it would have just been a ridiculous mess all mushed together. Also, he wouldn't have been on the phone with Emily, WHEN he blew up, if they weren't back on track again. And that bit will be rather key to the next chapter.

As always thank you for reading and reviewing!