trigger warning for mentions of abortion and substance abuse within this chapter. both canon complicit and canon divergent. stay safe loves x

He text, but she didn't read them. He called, but she let it go to voicemail and didn't listen to them. At work, she was polite and professional, but she didn't go out of her way to talk to him and every request to go to his office was blatantly ignored; she put her assignments on his desk before he arrived in the morning, or after he left of an evening, or when she knew he was in a meeting. He was obviously restricted in what he could say to her by the presence of the team, and Emily didn't let herself be alone with him. The last one into the conference room, and the first one out, she hardly even made eye contact with him.

It hurt to shut him out, but not nearly as much as finding out the truth about him.

As far as she was concerned, they were done. She would be his colleague, his subordinate, his team member, but not his friend, not his lover, not…whatever that had been. No, that was done. She was done. Stupid, really, to ever think this would turn out differently to every other thing in her life. A mess. She should have expected something to go wrong. Honestly, she wasn't even surprised.

But Emily was dreading getting a case, worrying that, at the first opportunity, he would assign her to work with him and, as soon as they were alone together in a car, force her to listen to whatever excuses he had prepared.

"Emily?" JJ was frowning at her, leaning against Reid's desk.

"Hm?" The blonde's voice pulled Emily out of her head, and she blinked, realised she had been staring up at the window of Hotch's office. She looked down at the paper in front of her, a case file she'd been reading for half an hour, one she had been asked to consult on.

JJ glanced from Emily, now scribbling out a note she had made on the page, to Hotch's office, and back again. "Are you alright?" She asked, eyebrows downturned with concern.

"Me?" Emily shook her hair out of her face as she sat up, smiling at the blonde. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

JJ just shook her head, a little smile on her face, and said nothing more.

"Stilll no cases?" Emily asked, and a collective groan came from her three nearby colleagues.

"Emily," JJ whined.

"Come on, princess," Morgan chastised.

"Statistically," Reid began, perfectly in character, "although it's been proven that events actually don't happen more often once their absence has been noted, we personally do seem to have the terrible luck of a run of cases after someone says something along those lines."

Usually, Emily might have given Morgan some kind of smirk, when the kid had her back, but it didn't even cross her mind to be smug about it. Morgan, who had looked at her in anticipation of the smugness, frowned, then turned his eyes on JJ, who just shrugged in a your guess is as good as mine kind of way.

"You okay, princess?" he asked Emily, who heaved an impatient, annoyed sigh.

"I really just wish everyone would stop asking me that," She stood up, picking up a file as she did so, and Spencer caught her eye.

"Would you drop this into Hotch, too?" He said, completely innocently, and one glance at Reid, at his sallow appearance and sunken eyes, and the snappy retort on Emily's tongue died.

Sure, things weren't great right now, but she hadn't literally died. Perspective set in, and although she looked a moment too long at the manila file that Spencer held out to her, her eyes flit to his and she forced a smile.

"Sure kid," She said, softly, taking it from his lightly shaking hand. Nevermind that Hotch's office was the last place she wanted to be.

Walking up the ramp to the office, Emily's palms were sweating against the folders in her hands. She rehearsed the interaction in her head; she would walk in, place the files on the sofa, not even on the desk, and walk about again. If he spoke to her, she would ignore him. She didn't have to talk to him about anything outside of work. Even as she recited this in her mind, her stomach was churning. It had been two weeks, and none of her emotions had settled. She was angry, humiliated, but also sad. And then angry all over again, at herself, for being sad. But as she rapped, assertively, on Hotch's office door, and pushed it open without waiting for the reply, her face revealed none of this. She didn't even look up at him, sat at his desk.

"Mine and Reid's," She said, bluntly, dropping the files onto the sofa, where they made a soft thump then turning, immediately, to go.

"Prentiss." Not Emily. Prentiss. It made her halt, her neck cricked to the side in annoyance. "Please, come and take a seat."

The tone was formal; he wasn't speaking to her as Aaron, but as Hotch. She turned, regarding him, finally, with eyes void of emotion.

"Sir?" She put as much venom into the word as she could, and saw him recoil. When he met her eyes, his work persona was dropped, and his eyes were soft again. He lowered his voice.

"Emily, please," He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, and, though she wanted to, wanted there to be a reason and an explanation, she couldn't force her feet take the steps towards him. She just shook her head, hair waving around her pale face, and tucked one side of it behind her ear.

"I have to get back to work," She said, turning and leaving him sitting there, as frustrated as he had been for the past two weeks.

The worst part, Emily thought later, as she ate leftover chinese, cold from the fridge, was that she couldn't even ask the rest of the team about her. Haley. It would seem too strange for her to suddenly take an interest in Hotch's wife, after four months on the team. They couldn't know that that day had been the first she had heard or seen of the beautiful, petite, oblivious blonde who smiled so genuinely at her. But there was something going on, because Emily had been through it all over and over again in her mind and he didn't wear a ring. She would have noticed one that very first night in the bar; she had looked for one. It was a habit, these days, at her age. A quick, subtle glance towards the right hand and Emily knew who and what she was dealing with. Half of the time, she didn't even care about the ring. Hell, she probably would have slept with him anyway. But Hotch hadn't turned out to be a one night stand. And Hotch definitely didn't wear a ring.

She crunched into a piece of broccoli, annoyed with herself for once again raking her way through each memory she had of him. She pictured him in each of them with a ring, and it never looked right. He didn't wear one. But he was married. But he had never mentioned his wife to her. Emily threw her fork into the chinese box, her appetite suddenly gone, and set it down onto her coffee table.

Finally, she had gotten around to unpacking the place. It was still pretty bare; Emily didn't need a shrink to assess her, she could assess herself. She knew the reason she kept her belongings to a minimum, knew it was the result of her mobile childhood, of picking up and moving on every few years thanks to Elizabeth's job. It had turned Emily into somewhat of a nomadic individual, and she didn't need a professional's opinion on that, thank you very much. Perhaps it was time to move on again. She had what she had mentally begun referring to as The Strauss Problem, and now this. This job, which she had been so happy about four months ago, had turned into a fucking shit show.

Just then, there was a rap on her front door. It didn't for a moment cross Emily's mind that he might be behind it, and when she opened it and found him standing there, she felt a little stupid for that. Briefly, she considered shutting the door in his face. Her hand braced against it, but Hotch's hand reached out, slamming flat against the outside of the door, and he met her eyes with such a pleading expression that, for a moment, her anger faltered.

With a sigh, Emily stepped backwards into her apartment, an invitation, and Hotch stepped inside. He was too close to her, as he closed the door behind him, staring her down.

"Can we talk?" He asked, and for all of her stubbornness these past two weeks, Emily had no response now other than to shrug.

"Talk." She ordered, crossing her arms across her chest, suddenly aware of her appearance. She'd been lounging on the sofa in a tank top and shorts, perfectly comfortable in her own company and apartment, but now she felt exposed, and her skin was hot in his presence.

"We're separated." Was what he said first, and Emily wanted to scoff, wanted to laugh in his face, but he obviously saw this because he held up a hand. "Just…just shut up and listen." Emily's eyes went wide and he added a soft, "Please." Despite her incredulity, she said nothing, only gestured for him to go on. "Haley and I…" He looked uncomfortable, saying his wife's name in her presence. "We got married young, things weren't working for a while before I met you and we've been separated now for a few months. Yes, I should have told you, but that's the truth."

Emily regarded him, assessing him, calculating him. She could read the sincerity in his eyes, along with the shame and embarrassment he felt; whether at being caught out, or at hurting her, she didn't know. Then her face broke into a small, sad smile. "Not anymore, though, hm?"

His eyebrows furrowed, questioning, and Emily reached for his hand. There, on his finger, was a thick, golden band. It held the space between them, like a snapshot in time. They both gazed down at it, at everything that it meant. Emily, who just felt sad, wondered what Hotch was feeling, as he watched the woman he had secretly made into his mistress trace her finger delicately along his wedding band.

"Emily-" His voice was little more than a whisper, and she dropped his hand, meeting his eyes with a tight, bland smile that didn't reach her eyes. His heart dropped at that, as he saw her walls go up.

"It's okay, Hotch," Gone was the use of his first name, and that stung him maybe more than anything else she could have said to him, "I get it. You've gotta try and make your marriage work, right? You're not the divorce kind of guy. I get it." He said nothing, but heaved a sigh. "Go home, sir. I'll see you at work in the morning."

It was a dismissal and Hotch was many things, but he wasn't about to impose himself on a woman who wanted him gone. He hesitated for only a moment, but couldn't come up with anything to say. There was nothing, Emily thought, nothing to be said. Only work to be done, and steps forward to be taken. Their…whatever they'd had, was to be put behind them, once and for all, and Emily would do what she had originally come here to do; work, and keep herself to herself.

Emily was always good at compartmentalisation.

After that discussion, once she knew that anything there could have been between her and Hotch was over, it was easy to put it all behind her, to act as though none of it had ever happened. Life went on, much as it would have done if she had never walked into O'Keefe's all those months ago, eager to relive her days at the Academy. Her spirits lifted, and faster than she had thought they would. Throwing herself into her work helped, and she remembered how excited she had been about this job, before there was him. The cases they dealt with were difficult enough that she barely had a moment to stop to ponder over what she and Hotch almost did or didn't have.

New York was horrific. Tensions were always higher when race was involved as a motive, and they all felt it. Putting Terrance Wakeland behind bars felt good. Reassuring a community felt good. The loss of the two girls they couldn't save weighed heavily, but saving Ally was lucky. Morgan snapped handcuffs onto Wakeland, and Emily watched him load the unsub into a police car. They went home feeling accomplished.

In the face of her own turmoil, her own distress, Emily had forgotten to check in on the others. Following Hankel, it seemed that JJ was getting back on her feet. The darkness that had hovered over her like a cloud in the first few weeks following her attack was alleviating, and each time she came back from a therapy session, she seemed a little lighter, a little brighter. She was healing. It was good to see her laugh and smile, again, and every day she did that a little more.

Reid was the opposite. It seemed that every time she saw him, his expression was darker, his eyes more sunken. He was receding into himself, and it was so unspoken that Emily had to wonder if anyone else had even noticed. Indeed, it had taken her a few weeks to recognise it, she had been so selfishly caught up in her own drama. She tried to bring him out of himself; whenever she made coffee, she offered him one and was turned down time and time again. She made jokes, and he cut her off, and sometimes he was outwardly aggressive about it. Each occasion, she logged mentally, for future reference.

On the way to Houston, she offered to help him with mapping out the area, as they discussed the unsubs hunting ground.

"Maybe we can find a connection between them," She suggested, "I'll help you with that."

"I can handle it." He cut her off, unceremoniously. Emily glanced, helplessly, at the rest of the team, who all seemed to regard Reid warily. There was a moment of awkward silence where she didn't really know what to say, and nobody else intervened.

"I wasn't suggesting you couldn't," She tried to put a little laughter behind her words, but Reid didn't even look at her as he said, viciously,

"You know what 'I'll help you with it' means?"

She opened her mouth to respond, unsure of what was going to come out, when Hotch interrupted. He left no room for Reid to argue when he told him that Emily would help him with the geographical profiling and, this time, Reid didn't argue back. Nor did he raise his eyes from the file in front of him.

Things didn't improve. At the precinct, he was itchy, irritated, and snappy. When he slammed closed the windows, blocking out the construction noise, Emily, holding a homemade cookie in her hand from one of the detective's wives, flinched, as did JJ. They exchanged a glance, but, once again, said nothing. It was on the tip of Emily's tongue to call him out, to sit him down and ask, once and for all, what was going on, but she flashed back to those awful nights in Atlanta, to seeing him die on the dirty floor of Hankel's place. It took more than a few weeks to get over something like that. So, like the others, she said nothing. She continued to give him time.

The shelter was a sad place, but they always were. As usual, they were subjected to stares as she and Reid walked in; the homeless generally didn't regard law enforcement with much trust or respect, and Emily could hardly blame them. She tried to look as pleasant and kind as possible, even as she flashed her badge at the worker.

"Hi. I'm Agent Prentiss. This is Agent Reid. We're with the fbi." She told the woman who had introduced herself as Angie and whose eyes widened a little at their titles.

"Really?"

"Really." Emily confirmed, with a nod, putting away her badge, noticing she had flashed it upside down and internally rolling her eyes at herself. "It looks like you have your hands full here."

"With the demolitions in the projects and the abandoned buildings, There's no place else for people to sleep." Angie clarified, and, beside her, Emily saw Reid twitch at the mention of the demolition. He had removed his sunglasses and there were dark circles beneath his sunken eyes. Emily pulled her eyes away from him long enough to smile at Angie, who looked nervous to be speaking with them. Emily smiled wider, hoping to reassure the girl.

"Well, thank god there are people like you who take the time-"

"Do you have a list of everyone who comes through here?" She tried not to be annoyed as Reid cut across her, but it wasn't the first time, and the tone he took, this time with a member of the public, was harsh and bold. She let him, though, pressing her lips together.

"Well, we have a sign-in sheet,"Angie said, "but we don't force anyone to sign if they don't want to. Some who do don't even use their real names. Elvis eats here a lot."

The joke was lost on Reid, who carried on roughly with his abrupt tone, "We would appreciate any lists you have."

"Why?"

"Have you noticed anyone who acts unusually aggressive towards the other residents?" Reid demanded, ignoring her question outright. Now, Emily could see the genuine panic rising in the girl's eyes, and she glanced from Reid, to her, looking for a way to dispel the situation.

"What's this about?" Emily opened her mouth to speak, to comfort the girl, but Reid beat her to it.

"A series of murder in the area. The perpetrator may be a homeless man. Maybe someone who stays here. He may even be in this room as we speak." Her eyes went wide as she looked at him, but Reid wasn't even looking at either of the women, he was looking around the room, as though he could identify their unsub purely on sight.

"My god." Angie was, understandably, shocked and scared. Emily's eyebrows shot up, her mouth gaping, helplessly, wishing she could take back Reid's words.

"Reid." She tried to emulate Hotch, tried to put some warning into her voice, but the younger agent simply ignored her as he carried on.

"Have you noticed anyone who acts paranoid or displays explosive, unprovoked bursts of violence, More than just pushing and shoving? I mean, someone who really tries to harm others."

"There are territorial fights over food and places to sleep. The nurse treats people for minor injuries all the time, But no one's seriously hurt." Angie was trying to help as much as she could, Emily saw, even though there was fresh terror in her eyes.

"If anyone does come to mind, give us a call. Thank you." And Reid left her standing there, with a terrified civilian, who was staring around as though any of the homeless patrons might attack her at a moments notice.

"A murder?"

"I'm sorry," Emily watched Reid go, anger and confusion bubbling together in her chest, and turned back to Angie with as much comfort as she could muster in her eyes. "I…this investigation is still-" She fumbled for the right words, "No one has actually been hurt in a shelter. We're just…" Emily sighed, helpless, "We're acting with an abundance of caution. So, please, let the police know If anything unusual occurs. Thanks."

And she reached out a hand, to touch her arm in what she hoped was a comforting way, then followed Reid out the way he had gone. She found him outside, regarding the area, and when he spoke, it was as though there was nothing amiss.

"There's a high presence of mental disorders with the homeless." He said, as though nothing had happened out of the ordinary.

"Yeah." She cut him off, disregarding his statement and frowning at him. "What the hell was that in there?"

"What?" The expression on Reid's face was one of bemused bewilderment, and Emily raised her eyebrows, his apparent nonchalance grating on her.

"He may even be in this room as we speak"? We have nothing to support that." She shook her head.

"We're investigating a serial homicide. Should I have pretended there's no danger?" His attitude was of one who sees nothing wrong in their actions, and Emily felt her blood begin to boil. She stood her ground, pointing back the way they had come, and made her voice level, even as her confusion and anger mounted. She shouldn't have to be explaining this to an agent who had been in the field as long as Reid had.

"We just left that woman potentially afraid of every man who walks into this shelter."

"Again," Reid continued, impassively, "until we find this unsub, how is that a bad thing?

"What is the matter with you?" Emily frowned up at him. He was so different from the boy she'd first met, the one who had been so amazed by her knowledge of Russian, the one who had analysed her accent and correctly deduced her nomadic childhood in a matter of moments. Everything had changed, she realised, since Hankel. And nobody was doing a damn thing about it.

"What do you mean, what's the matter with me?" He was affronted, insulted, but still, she pushed.

"I have never seen you act like this." She knew immediately by his expression that she had said the wrong thing, and the venom in his next words hurt.

"Oh, really? Oh, in the months that you know me, You've never seen me act this way? Hey, no offence, Emily, but... You don't really know what you're talking about, do you?"

He walked away, leaving her standing there, hurt and confused, to follow behind him like a kicked puppy. Emily said nothing more to him for the rest of the case, though she continued to ponder over his actions.

She didn't bring his behaviour up to anybody, and perhaps, because of that, she was as complicit as everyone else in Reid's downward spiral, in the end.

They were in New Orleans when it all came to a head.

It was JJs behaviour that really made Emily aware of just how much Reid had been affected by Hankel. It had been almost two months, now. JJ, who, granted, had not been kidnapped, tortured and even momentarily dead, was pretty much back to herself. Her arm was healed, although if Emily looked long enough she could see the tiny pink marks left by the dogs teeth, and she displayed no outward signs of trauma. Emily even saw her flirting with Lamontagne, the detective on the case in New Orleans. But Reid ..his behaviour continued to spiral.

She'd logged so many occasions at this point that she had an entire repertoire of Reid's strange behaviour to pull from, when Gideon asked her what was wrong. She saw it on his face though, as he frowned at her.

"Come on," he sighed, "You think I don't know there's something going on with him?"

It seemed that they were all either ignoring it, or giving Reid a pass; neither option was good, and neither option was one Emily wanted to have to report back to Strauss. They were on the flight home when she finally brought it up to Hotch.

She'd barely spoken to him, even since their discussion in her apartment, even since things had started looking up for her. It was less painful, now, to look at him, speak to him, but she still wasn't comfortable as she took up the seat opposite him. The rest of the plane was quiet; JJ and Reid were sleeping, Morgan had headphones on, Gideon was away, in his own world, reading. Hotch looked up, surprised, as she opted to sit near him, and closed the book in his lap. She shook her head, as if to say that wasn't necessary, and cast a glance over her shoulder, at where Reid's head was lolling onto JJ's shoulder.

"It might not be my place," She started, quietly, folding her hands on the table in front of her, "but have you noticed Reid's behaviour lately?"

Hotch's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed tightly together, and he looked past her, down the plane. He regarded Reid, his sallow skin, the shadows beneath his eyes, the grease in his hair. He was dishevelled; the boy had never been the height of fashion, not even so put together as he himself was, but his clothes lately had been creased, occasionally unwashed, his shoes dirty. His nails were bitten down to stubs, and Hotch glanced from him, to Emily's hands on the table, to her own chewed nails.

"I've noticed," He answered, and admitting it felt like admitting his own failure, because of course he had noticed the change in his youngest agent. Not only was he the boss, and therefore responsible for the rest of his team, but he was a profiler, and it didn't take a profiler to see what was going on with Reid.

"It's drugs." Emily said, bluntly. His eyes snapped to hers, and he found no judgement there. She gave a little shrug. "Don't ask how I know," she closed her eyes briefly, maybe against memories she didn't want to relive, "but he's in deep. I'm willing to bet it's dilaudid, from when Hankel was dosing him."

Hotch let her speak, and admired her skills, as she did so. "What do you suggest I do about it?"

"There's not much you can do," She told him, with a little shrug, "Besides support him. He has to want to get off it himself."

"But he can't be in the field while he gets clean." It was half a statement, half a question, as though he wanted someone else to confirm what he already knew. Emily heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

"No, he can't."

"If you're going to talk about me, could you do it when I'm not within earshot?" Spencer's voice wasn't angry, as he approached their table, just tired. Hotch and Emily locked eyes, both of them tensed for a confrontation, but Spencer simply gestured for Hotch to move in, to let him sit down. He took up the seat opposite Emily, and fixed her with a stare.

"I'm ready to get help," He said, surprising them both. Emily's eyebrows shot up, and she saw Hotch close his eyes, as though in relief. "I'm ready. I don't expect it to be easy but-" His voice cracked, and his eyes lowered, as though in shame. When he spoke again, his voice was small. "I don't like who it makes me."

He was so sad, so small in that moment that Emily reached across the table, to take hold of his hands in her own. He let her, let her touch him for the first time in weeks, and didn't pull away or flinch, didn't cast her a dirty look for trying to help. His hands were cold in hers, and shaking. She didn't didn't know what made her say it, what made her speak so candidly about something she'd never before opened up about, but something about how dejected and small Spencer looked drew memories from deep inside of her, and before she knew it, the words were out.

"When I was fifteen," She began confidently, but it soon failed her, her voice cracking. She hadn't spoken about this ever, not since it had happened, almost two decades ago. She paused, inhaled, skimmed her tongue across her lips, and dropped her eyes, unable to look at either of them. She could stop, now. Apologise and stop. They didn't need to know this, and she didn' tneed to share it. But that was shame speaking, and it had been years since Emily Prentiss had let shame control her. "When I was fifteen, I got in trouble."

Beside Reid, she saw Hotch look at her. She couldn't meet his eyes. This wasn't for him; he just happened to be here, and he knew it. His lips remained pressed together, and he said nothing, acted as though he weren't even listening, though Emily knew he could hear every word, was hanging on every word.

"Emily," Reid said, quickly, his tone shameful, unable to so much as look at her. He shook his head, as though desperate for her to shut up, as though her candidness hurt him. "You don't have to tell me this."

"I know," She told him, softly, squeezing his hands, trying to reassure him. "I know, okay?" She shook his hand in hers, urging him to look at her. When he did, his eyes were fearful, but he nodded, and she nodded back. "I was fifteen and I was a kid. Desperate to fit in, able to…able to turn myself into whoever I needed to be to do that. I'd moved around a lot for my mom's job," She shrugged, "So I had a lot of practice being whoever people wanted me to be. But at fifteen," She paused again, her own words tripping her up. Her eyes flit to Aaron's, and his were blank. She wished she could read him in that moment, but this wasn't for him. Whatever he thought of her, it didn't matter anymore, so she blocked him out. "At fifteen, the things you'll do to fit in change. And I got pregnant."

Reid closed his eyes against her words, and she could see his pain in the way he furrowed his brow. She didn't even look at Hotch, didn't spare him a glance. He wasn't even there. This wasn't for him.

"I was still just a kid. Underdeveloped. Unprepared for a pregnancy, let alone an abortion. It was hard on me, on my body." She shook her head, breathed in, deeply, remembering, flinching away from the memories she had buried deep, from the first physical pain she had endured, and much too young. "I was in a lot of pain."

Reid looked at her now, as though he could see where this story ended. Emily nodded, answering his unasked questions, pressing her lips together against the sensation of oncoming tears that rose in her throat, that familiar pain in her cheeks.

"Oxy." It felt dirty to admit it, especially in front of Hotch. He wouldn't ever look at her the same. But that didn't matter. "They never should have prescribed it to a fifteen year old. But I thought I could handle it. I was rebelling against my mother, I smoked, I drank. I wasn't a stranger to substances and I'd never gotten addicted before," She shrugged, again, "No big deal, right?" She paused, shaking her head. "Wrong. This was…something different."

Reid didn't say a word. He was staring at Emily, his chin tilted down, his eyes dark. He looked like he might cry. Not out of pity, but because he knew. He knew what she was talking about. He knew what something different felt like. It felt like life and death in the palm of your hand. It felt like falling into a soft, warm bed after walking for years through the cold. It felt like coming home. It was wonderful and terrible all at once. He hated it. He loved it. But he hated it. Emily nodded, like she could see his thoughts in his eyes.

"All this to say," She squeezed his hand, "You're stronger than it. I was. I got clean." She didn't tell him that it had taken years, that it took almost dying to do it. It wouldn't get to that for him. He had something she didn't; a family who cared. "You are, and you will, too." She nodded, waiting for him to nod, to agree. "I promise."

"I'm sorry," His voice broke, and Emily's heart ached in her chest, for the young man in front of her, the one who was far too smart for his own good. Sometimes, she thought, they took advantage of that; but really, he was still just a boy, in so many ways. "I'm sorry I've been cruel to you."

With a small smile on her lips, Emily gave him a little shrug. "I can take it."

He smiled, then. Just a little, but enough, and squeezed her hand. She gave him a quick wink across the table, and let go of his hands, sitting back against her seat. She didn't know how long it would take him, or how easy his road would be, but there was a strength in the younger agent that was often overlooked, and Emily felt a slight tug of pride in her chest as she rested her head back against the seat.

Across the table, Hotch regarded them both. He felt as though he had just witnessed something from behind glass. Neither of them turned to him, Spencer hadn't needed him in that moment, there was nothing that he could do for his youngest agent. But Emily…he let himself look at her, as she stared out of the window at the clouds, the sun streaming in across her face, highlighting her cheekbones and her brow bone, turning her eyes a light, chocolate brown flecked with gold. There was something about her, depths he hadn't even tried to reach. She was what Reid had needed, she had answers Hotch never could have summoned.

The fasten seat belt sign flashed to life and Hotch was still thinking about her when the plane landed back on DC soil.