Chapter Ten

In the end, leaving the party saved their night. They all ended up catching cabs back into the city. Two cars pulled up and Emily found herself being pulled towards the first before she could protest, JJ hanging off her arm, with barely a glance back at the others, at Hotch, waiting with the boys.

"They'll find us, don't be worrying about them, they know where we're going!" JJ reassured her. Emily didn't ask how they knew where they were going, when she didn't know where they were going; she supposed there must be a regular place they all went drinking that she had yet to be introduced to. When she voiced this to JJ and Penelope, the latter blonde simply grinned at her. "We had to make sure you were cool enough first."

Emily laughed, but JJ rolled her eyes, smirking. "Don't listen to her, Em; have we even had time for a drink, since you joined the team?"

She made a very good point. Emily had felt like she was moving at breakneck speed ever since she joined the team, what was it? Almost two months ago, now. It wasn't until she sat and actually thought about it that Emily realised how much time had passed since her first day, since that night. Everything since, every case, and there had already been so many, had consumed her entirely. She hadn't even noticed the time passing, the change of seasons. The cold had swept in so quickly this year, by the time the she realised it was already almost Christmas.

Before, things had been stagnant. Her cases were stagnant, drawn out, draining, impossibly long. Now, she felt an entirely different type of exhausted; her muscles complained and she was tired all of the time, but there was a sense of satisfaction she'd never gotten from her job before. It felt good to come home after a long case and know she had made a difference for the better, and to have that validation not after months and months of work, but weeks, sometimes just days. Emily truly felt she'd made more of a positive difference working at the BAU for the past two months than she had for the majority of her time working for the CIA.

She and JJ spent the ride grilling Peneope about Derek, but the bubbly blonde just brushed them off, rolling her eyes, reassuring them that she loved Derek, but as nothing more than a friend. She seemed relieved when the cabbie pulled to a stop and announced their arrival at their destination. Emily shifted over the seats and stepped out of the car behind JJ, while Penelope paid the driver. Immediately, she knew where they were, and she felt her stomach drop just a little.

The same green sign she'd looked upon two months before, and not since, hung above the doors. Of course. It made sense; the bar was close to Quantico, of course it was popular amongst agents, and not just students. She should have realised.

As their cab pulled away, the boys pulled up. JJ and Penelope were already making their way inside, followed by Reid and Morgan who gave Emily's shoulder a gentle, friendly nudge as he walked past her. He paused in the doorway, turning back to her with a question on his brow, but she shook her head.

"I'll be right in," She said, "Order me a red?" Morgan nodded, disappearing through the doors. As they swung open, Emily heard the lively noise of a party inside, and it was as she remembered every Saturday night being when she was at the Academy. She began rooting around in her clutch, as she heard Hotch approach. He'd clearly been the designated financier of Morgan and Reid's taxi ride.

"Shit," she muttered to herself, realising she knew exactly where her cigarettes were; on the kitchen worktop in her apartment. Fuck.

A large hand, weatherworn and calloused, fingernails well tended and unbitten, unlike her own, appeared in front of her face, holding two cigarettes.

Emily spun on her heels, the hand following her movement, settling in front of her face, as she lifted her eyes to his face and raised an eyebrow at Hotch. He gave her the smallest of shrugs as she took one of the offered tabs, leaning against the brick wall at her back.

"Don't tell them," He told her, moving to lean against the wall beside her, putting his own cigarette between his lips. He took a blue lighter out of the inside breast pocket of his blazer, tilting his head to the side as he cupped his hands around the flame, protecting it from the slight breeze. Emily watched as the lighter sparked, lighting his face for a moment, and the end of the cigarette turned red as it caught light. Hotch handed her the lighter and she followed his lead, lighting her own cigarette with ease.

"I didn't have you down as a smoker," She told him, nasally, as she held her first lungful of smoke, exhaling slowly, feeling the stress her mother had caused her simply melt away. What she really meant, what she really felt like saying, was you don't taste like a smoker, but, even tipsy as she was, she knew better than to reopen that can of worms.

Hotch shrugged, non-committal. "I'm not," He said, with a glance at her. He smiled when she frowned, her gaze flitting pointedly from his face to the cigarette in his hand, and back again, one eyebrow raised in question. "Alright, I suppose I am. I'm what we'd profile as a social smoker. I just don't have too much of a social life, so…"

"Poor Hotch," She teased, pouting. He gave a silent laugh, shoulders jumping, and she smiled a little. "Remind me to never invite you out if it means you risking lung cancer."

At that, he let out a genuine bark of laughter, which was promptly followed by a coughing fit that had Emily chuckling.

"Amateur."

"Oh, and I suppose you're a chimney?" Emily lifted her tab bearing hand as if to say, obviously. "And you have no issues risking the aforementioned lung cancer?"

"Please," Emily purred, with a grin as she leaned back against the wall and blew smoke towards the stars, "I've been ready to die since I was fifteen."

Her words, their bluntness, their confidence, their matter-of-factness, took him aback. His hand paused, halfway to his lips, and his hand dropped limply to his side; at some point the stub tumbled from between his fingers and lay, forgotten, between the cobbles. He didn't bother to retrieve it or light another. He was too busty studying the beautiful girl beside him, the red smile on her full lips, the shadow cast by those impossibly long lashes, the flush of alcohol on her pale chest and in her cheeks. He saw it all, the sharpness of her jaw, the sleekness of her hair, the silver screen-esque beauty in front of him and, for the first time since meeting her, he saw behind it all, and he didn't believe any of it. It was so impossibly sad, and, for once, he didn't have any words.

It was a long moment before Emily realised she's said anything out of place. She had closed her eyes, a smile on her painted red lips, enjoying a moment of calm in her evening as the cigarette did it's job and melted away all of the stress Erin and Elizabeth had brought to her evening. The crisp air of December was cold on her skin, but the alcohol she had consumed throughout the night was keeping her warm, even as goosebumps appeared over her skin. There was a gentle, continuous buzz in her hear that warned her she was on the way to a night she wouldn't remember if she kept going, which she intended to do. She could hear the dull pound of the music from inside, a song that was familiar only because she heard it on the radio on her drives to and from work. She sang along under her breath, nodding her head in time to the music.

When she opened her eyes again, and put the cigarette to her lips, he was staring at her.

"What?" She asked, still smiling, the stick just inches from her lips. He shook his head, pasting a smile onto his own face, but she saw it. His cigarette discarded on the floor, the limpness of his hand at his side, the sadness in his eyes.

"Nothing," He replied, that smile firmly back in place, and Emily's expression didn't falter once, because she'd accidentally said too much, and she really, really didn't want to talk about it.

"Come on," She said, taking the last drag of her cigarette, remembering the way JJ's eyes had studied them both earlier in the evening, "I'm sure Penelope is dying to get you back onto the dancefloor."

"Not funny," Hotch said, but he was smiling as he followed her back into the bar.

It was a much livelier night than the one Emily had seen two months ago; the small dancefloor was crammed with bodies, each one dancing to a different beat they found in the bouncy pop music that was playing. The music was an eclectic mix, everything from Whitney to Mr Brightside. Once they got inside, Emily barely sat down. She hadn't taken more than a sip of her red wine before she was being pulled onto the dancefloor by Penelope, to dance to some Pussycat dolls song; not her choice of music ordinarily, but it was the perfect woo-girl, bump-and-grind on the dancefloor song.

They looked entirely out of place, swinging their hips in their floor length gowns, and they had to explain themselves several times to drunken punters who befriended them long enough to ask, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter when Penelope dragged her skirt through someone's spilled drink, or when JJ had to strip naked to pee, because they were having fun. Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun, and, god, did she need it.

A song they didn't recognise, about an hour into being in the bar and on the dancefloor, had them making their way back to the table where Hotch and Reid waited. Morgan was the only one of the boys who'd joined them to dance, garnering the attention of pretty much every young lady on the floor, though he didn't give any of them any serious attention, even if Emily did see him take down a few phone numbers. Hotch had remained seated, content to watch them enjoy themselves and protect their drinks. Reid was standing up as they approached the table.

"You're leaving?" JJ asked, though she didn't seem surprised.

The boy wonder nodded, his lips pressed together shyly. "Yeah, I'm beat." Emily could see the tiredness in his eyes. She knew he didn't really drink; he'd had maybe two glasses all evening, and that was enough for him. Tonight was the kind of night that was a lot, if one were sober. She smiled at him, approaching him for a hug to say goodbye. He looked surprised, but not unhappy, but she felt the little bit of awkwardness when she hugged him, so she kept it brief. She hoped he would continue to be more and more comfortable with her, but understood it would take time for him.

"See you Monday," She said, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. When she stepped away, he was smiling, the tips of his ears a little pink. She smiled, feeling a wave of affection for the younger agent. He nodded at her, turning to the rest of the team with a little wave.

"I'll walk you out," JJ told him, and they disappeared out of the front doors.

"Come on," Penelope said, finishing her drink as she grabbed for Derek's hand, "Another, before I make you escort me home to bed."

Hotch watched Garcia drag Morgan away, with a small smirk tilting the corner of his mouth. Watching them made him completely unaware of Emily's eyes on him, over the rim of her glass. Her lashes fluttered lightly as she traced his brow, the curve of his nose, his strong, stubbled jawline, before alighting back on his eyes, creased with a smile as he watched Derek and Penelope dance, looking entirely out of place in their little bar, in her little bar, in all of their finery. It was, Emily thought, one of the most genuine smiled she'd seen on his face. It made her smile, too, to see him so content and relaxed. Even if she had only been with them for two months, she knew them well enough to know that was a rare occurrence.

But, on that first night, with just her, he looked like that. Relaxed, content.

"What?" He'd turned and caught her staring, caught her smiling. She debated lying, or just shaking her head nothing, but she held his gaze, smile still very much in place. She, too, was feeling more relaxed than she had all evening.

"You're…" She hesitated a moment, and he got the small shake of her head anyway, along with her words, "very handsome."

Hotch was saved from replying by the reappearance of JJ, who reached past Emily for her bag. "Guys, I'm gonna jump in this cab with Reid, I'm beat." She wrapped an arm around Emily's neck, pressing a kis to her forehead.

"I'm sorry I forced you to go tonight. You were right, your mother is a nightmare. Much worse than mine. You win."

Emily laughed, arm around JJ's waist. "Gee, thanks. Do you know how much restraint it's taken me, all night, not to tell you I told you so?"

"Hmm," JJ scrunched up her nose, and Emily mimicked the expression. "I'll see you all Monday, bright, fresh," She pulled a face, as though she were dreading it, "Early."

"I'll bring the coffee," Emily told her, grinning. That earned her another kiss and an I love you muffled against her hair. The blonde waved to Penelope and Derek, still dancing, and blew Hotch a kiss, which had him raising his eyebrows, before turning on her heels once more, and then she was gone.

"I might shoot, too," Hotch said, checking his watch, "I didn't realise how late it had gotten."

Emily hadn't noticed, either, but a glance at Hotch's watch told her it was nearly two in the morning. Ten years ago, her night would have been just getting started, but she groaned internally at the thought of tomorrow's hangover if she didn't leave now. "Drop me off?" She asked, following him to her feet, and grabbing her own bag from the table top.

They both waved at Penelope and Derek, as JJ had. Emily believed those two would be dancing for hours to come yet, and they'd both still be paying for it on Monday. She smiled, watching them, their comfortability and familiarity with one another. Hotch rounded the table, a polite, small smile on his face as he pressed a hand to the small of her back and opened the door for her. She turned to go, casting a final glance over her shoulder at the two best friends, dancing and laughing together in the middle of the floor.

Outside, they walked in silence for a few blocks, heading for where Emily remembered the taxi's parked, waiting for custom. There was a chill in the air now; there had been all night, but it was only now that her alcohol jacket was wearing off that Emily felt it. She shuddered and, gentleman that he was, Hotch shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders before she had the chance to protest.. Pride wanted her to say no, but the goose pimples on her arms, that she now could definitely feel, screamed for her to accept. That, and the jacket smelled like him, which was both comforting and warmed her in an entirely different way. She slid her arms into the jacket, silk lining sliding warm against her skin.

"Make me a deal?" Hotch said, eventually, after they'd been walking for a while in silence. His hands were slung deep into his pockets as they rounded a corner and Emily spotted the queue of taxis parked along the sidewalk. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "A thought for a thought."

Her mouth tilted in a smile, but she narrowed her eyes at him, wondering where he was going with this. It didn't seem like a sensible idea, but it was intriguing, so, sensible idea of not, Emily nodded.

"I'm thinking I wish you'd brought your own jacket," She let out a bark of laughter at his words and he beamed, as though that had been his intention all along; to make her laugh.

"I am thinking…" SHe looked at him, wondering how much honesty he was expecting, how much honesty he really wanted, and how much honesty was too much. "I'm still thinking about how handsome you are."

The beaming smile on his face shrank into a sort of lopsided smirk as he pulled open the back door of the front cab, and Emily slid into the warmth of the car. A second later, he climbed in beside her. They each gave their addresses, Emily's being first, and then they sat in a comfortable, if charged, silence as the cabby started up the car.

"You know, I don't like you very much at work." Emily wasn't sure where the brutal honesty came from, but she felt like the words needed to be said. "You're kind of an ass, at work." He looked at her, with raised eyebrows, but he didn't say a word. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the same warning she'd had earlier, when she snapped at Strauss, that he was her boss, but he didn't feel like her boss, not in that moment, so she went on. "No, you really are. And I get it, you're the boss. You've gotta get the job done, you've gotta nail the rest of us to the wall." All too aware of her phrasing, Emily ploughed on, as though doing so would distract from the implication of her words, "Make sure we're all doing out jobs, otherwise it reflects badly on you. But, outside of work? I like you outside of work. It'd be nice if I liked you at work, too. That's all."

She gave him an innocent little shrug, to perhaps show that she was done talking, and turned back to look out of her window, watching as the city passed them by.

"You know, I only asked for one thought." He was teasing, smiling a little, and she barked out a laugh at his comment.

"You got," She thought about it for a moment, "Seven." She shrugged, "Just getting a few in the bank; it's nice to have people in your debt."

When they pulled up at her apartment, they sat for a moment in the still car, in the silence. Emily's stomach jumped a little when Hotch opened his door, stepping out into the crisp night, but he simply rounded the car to pull her door open for her. Those southerly manners. Stepping out into the night, she found herself level with his chin, the car door between them. Tilting her chin to meet his gaze, her breath caught in her throat. He was so close that she could have counted his eyelashes.

"I have one more thought for you, Emily," He whispered, softly. She swallowed, hard, eyes flitting to his lips, before her dark eyes once again met his.

"Yes?"

"I really wish you hadn't come to work for me."

Her fingers curled around the top edge of the door as she rose onto the pads of her feet, closing the distance between them. And perhaps she was aiming for his cheek, for a goodnight kiss as innocent as the one she had given Reid. Perhaps she wasn't. Either way, when their lips met, neither of them pulled away. Instead, when the kiss should have ended, one of them, perhaps both of them, leaned in for another, and another, and another.

Emily was breathless when she finally stepped back, hands sore from where they gripped the lip of the door too tightly. She hesitated for only a moment.

"Do you want to come up?" Hotch didn't hesitate at all before he nodded.

It was wrong. Wrong and dangerous. And perhaps that was what made it so good.

They shouldn't be kissing in the elevator, hands groping for skin that was covered by too many layers. He held fast to her waist, holding her so tightly she felt his fingers would leave little bruises.

They shouldn't be stumbling into her apartment, and he definitely shouldn't he stripping her bare of her clothes, gown discarded on the wooden floor as they climbed the stairs, stumbling, barely able to take the time to break their kiss long enough to watch where they were going.

He was her boss, she his employee, and he definitely shouldn't be kissing her like that, not there. She fisted at the bedsheets, breath catching in her chest as he held her down with a firm palm on her abdomen, holding her still, while her hips wanted to buck and thrash in pleasure as his fingers and tongue worked together to bring her to an excruciating peak. And once she tumbled over the edge once, there was no bringing her back. She fell, again and again, and he savoured it each time, each whine and curse that fell from her lips, each wet wave of pleasure a reward for his machinations.

When he finally stripped his own clothes away, and hovered over her, nudging, teasing at her entrance, Emily couldn't have cared less that he was her boss at all. She laced her hands through dark, mussed up hair, dragging him down to kiss her, wet and deep and long, the length of his body pressed against hers as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he sheathed himself inside of her and growled, animalistic and masculine, into her mouth.

Two months of tension, of stolen glances and fluttering lashes and smirking lips. Two months of remembering, of blushing and avoiding eye contact for fear of what he would see there. Two months of him avoiding looking too long at her, of putting her to work with anyone else because he couldn't stand to be around her without thinking of her smirking mouth on him. It all culminated when he was inside of her, when they moved together, and his heart hammered against his chest, against her chest, against her own hammering heart.

They were well and truly fucked. And neither of them could bring themselves to care.