Her drive home was dangerous. Emily's mind kept wandering back to Hotch, to those few moments in her car. She could feel her pulse, pounding all over her body. Her skin pulsated with the pressure of it, and there began an ache in her head, at her temples. For all of her confidence, all of her bravado, in front of Hotch, Emily's palms left sweaty streaks on the steering wheel, her skin slick, her breath coming in hard and uneven pants.

Guilt and lust, embarrassment and heat fought inside of her as she sat in the parking garage of her building. Parked but still clutching the steering wheel, Emily sat there for a long time, until the heat dissipated and her hands began to ache in the cold air. Her fingers cracked when she finally released the wheel. The headache that had been threatening had all but disappeared, and her heart had returned to a normal rhythm.

Stupid girl.

She slammed the glass down onto the counter, filling it to the brim with red wine. Lifting it to her lips, Emily gulped at it, and she immediately felt sick.

You dumb, desperate slut.

The hand holding her wine glass shook, threatening to slosh the liquid over the rim. She finished what was left in the glass and then set it down onto the stone counter with force. It turned on it's base with a series of heavy clinks, then settled and was still. Emily picked up the bottle, ready to pour out the last of it. She misjudged it, this time, and red liquid slopped onto the side. Cursing, Emily turned, to open the cupboard beneath her sink and retrieve a cloth, and then remembered she never bought any. Eternally on the move, Emily had forgotten how to stock a home, if she had ever even known how to in the first place. As a child, as a teenager, there had always been people to do those things for her, though not her parents, as was the case for most teenagers. As a last resort, she retrieved a towel from the wash basket and ruined it by cleaning up the wine. The towel went directly into the bin.

Two weeks. Hotch had been suspended for two weeks.

She had two weeks to decide if she could do this, or if she needed to move on again. And there was more to consider than just Hotch; Strauss, for example. What was she going to do about Strauss?

He could wait, as it turned out.

Those words, the ones she had said to him outside of his house, haunted her. They appeared in her mind at the most inconvenient of times, turning her stomach and forcing a blush into her cheeks as embarrassment washed over her. What a fucking line. Who did she think she was, really? Some temptress from a film noir?

Unfortunately for Emily, the two weeks that followed Hotch's suspension were remarkably uneventful. There was little to distract her from reliving those moments, little to distract her from his absence.

Aside from being bored and therefore prone to self-punishment, there were benefits to him not being around. His absence allowed her some time to process everything that had happened since starting her job at the BAU. She'd never had a day here that didn't involve him, a day when she wasn't aware of his presence, his movements. It was always there, in the back of her mind; the awareness that he was nearby. She knew when his eyes were on her by the prickle of hairs at the nape of her neck. The fortnight interval where she was able to go about her life without him let her know that she really did love this job. It's people, it's demand on her time and her emotions, it's necessity; the difference they made her was unparalleled, really, and was like nothing Emily had ever done before. She went home each night exhausted, but fulfilled.

Gideon was gone. Since Sarah, he hadn't been himself, and he'd refused time off immediately after his death. After Arizona, and the Anna Begley case, it seemed he had decided to take some time off, which Emily thought was wise. She remembered the mess of Sarah's apartment, the crushed and discarded flowers that she knew had fallen from Gideon's hand, their petals littering a carpet stained with more blood than Emily would have imagined possible.

And so it was that the team was not one, but two members down. They carried on as best as they could, but they could all see the cracks. Morgan was restless and anxious, though he tried to hide it. He commented, often, on the absence of thier leaders, and questioned every decision that was made without them. It seemed, to Emily, that the absence of Hotch scrutinising his every move made Morgan uncomfortable, as though he had grown accustomed and comfortable to it. They were a ship without an anchor or a destination. It weighed heavily on them all.

JJ seemed less steady than Emily had ever seen her. Like Morgan, she hesitated. She wavered over cases and files, looked more to the rest of them for opinions than Emily had known her to, before. She knew it was because Hotch usually gave the final nod over which cases they looked into, he had the final say over what they pursued. JJ didn't want to choose wrong, and be responsible for it. Her instincts, though, were as strong as ever, stronger, even, in the absence of thier leaders, and the rest of them tried to reassure her often and as best as they could.

If there was ever a time for Spencer to struggle with his sobriety, it would be now, only weeks into his decision. She watched him closely. Both of his role models, his father figures, had disappeared. More than once, Emily saw him searching for her, his eyes wide and scared, but whenever she met them, he relaxed. She would smile at him, reassuringly, and he would smile back, thinly, then duck his head to resume whatever task he was doing. She saw him to it to the others, too, as though he was scared that the rest of them might also disappear. At every opportunity, she reassured him. A gentle hand on his shoulder, a playful wink across the conference table, but she knew none of it was a worthy replacement for either Hotch or Gideon. So she kept a close eye on him.

They had only two cases while they were both gone.

The first was Washington DC. A man grieving the death of his wife and on the verge of psychotic collapse as a result. He left a trail of bodies in apartments across the city. A visionary killer, driven by his own inner demons, his victim pool was random but eventually they puzzled out his pattern and found him six days into his killing spree. When she put him in cuffs, Emily felt sorry for him, because he was relieved at having been caught. He was relieved that his demons couldn't follow him, wherever he was going. Emily wasn't so sure.

The second was Suffolk, Virginia, not far enough from home for comfort. She was just sixteen, a foster kid, working her way through every adult who had failed her, one by one. Everybody they came across they linked back to her in some negative way; they'd all abused her in one way or another. Unfortunately for her, the personal nature of her kills made her easy to track.

It was slightly disturbing how well they got along without Hotch and Gideon. SOmething about it was unsettling, as though the ability to be effective without either of them was a form of betrayal, somehow. In the office they were stilted, disjointed, but in the field they continued to work like a well oiled machine because when there were lives on the line, what other option did they have but to get on with it?

They arrived back from Suffolk the Friday before Hotch was due back at work. There was no need to head into the office, it was already late and paperwork could be filled out in the morning. In the parking lot, Morgan heaved a sigh and shrugged.

"O'Keefe's?"

There was a mumble of agreement that wasn't quite enthusiastic so much as it was routine.

The bar was lively, the music loud. Emily headed straight for the bar while the others settled themselves around their usual booth, partly to give herself a break from the utterly obvious Hotchlessness they were all currently suffering from.

The blonde barmaid was the same one from that first night with Hotch, the young girl Emily hadn't recognised. She'd been the one to serve them on most of the nights spent here since, including the night after Elizabeth's party. Emily still hadn't learned her name. Blondie greeted her with a smile that was a little too familiar. Obligated, Emily returned the smile and rested her elbows on the bar to make the order. Two beers, two wines and an orange juice for Reid.

Setting the wine glasses in front of Emily, one white, one red, the girl took her card from her hand.

"So, where's your boyfriend tonight?" She raised her voice over the music. The question took Emily by surprise, her eyes going wide because if this girl, who saw them maybe once a week and if that, had noticed there was something going on between her and Hotch, then who else had? What Emily missed entirely, was the playful glint in the barmaid's eye that made it obvious that she was both teasing and flirting.

"What?" Her brain was stalled by the shock, and the single syllable was all Emily could manage.

"The hot guy in the suit. Tall, dark and handsome?" She didn't like that, but tried not to react to her calling him handsome, if only so that she didn't confirm the barmaid's suspicions that there was something between them. Blondie's eyebrows were far too dark for her face, Emily noticed, for the first time, as she raised them. They made her look severe, even as she smiled. Emily just wanted her to give back her credit card. "He's usually here with you guys, right? You all just look a bit lost without him."

Ignoring the way her jealousy bristled when she called him hot, Emily glanced at the table, where the others sat. JJ had an elbow on the table, cradling her chin in her palm. Penelope was sitting on her phone, showing Morgan something that he smiled, halfheartedly at. Reid was slumped in his chair, staring off into space. They were a world away from the group they had been the night of Elizabeth's party; they looked entirely forlorn. It was quite sad, really.

"He's away." Emily said, shortly, uncomfortable and now eager to return to her sad little group and to escape the analytical gaze of Blondie.

"Trouble in paradise?" Obviously, she couldn't take a hint. She was attempting to be playful, to start a conversation, but Emily wasn't in the mood; she fixed her with a glare that had been known to make even Elizabeth Prentiss hesitate.

Holding her hand up in surrender, the girl slid Emily's card across the bar. "I'll mind my business."

Emily said nothing as she slotted the card into the back pocket of her jeans and picked up the tray to carry it over to their table. Then, feeling a little guilty as she walked away, because that bartender didn't deserve her animosity for simply asking a question, she heaved a sigh and paused, turning back to the girl.

"What was your name, sorry?" She asked.

"Claire," The girl smiled, and Emily attempted a smile in return.

"Emily." She said, and Claire nodded, looking placated, before moving on to another customer.

She hoped that the work she had done was enough to douse any rumours that might spring up about the two of them because even if they were far away enough that they were probably harmless, the team spent way too much time in this bar to risk it. If Claire had made that joke in front of JJ or any of the others, she could have struck a chord they hadn't noticed before, sparking suspicions that hadn't even existed until her comment. Yes, this was much too close to home. She hoped any rumours would be laughable to the rest of them, the thought of her and Hotch together, that they made enough of a show of indifference towards each other in front of the team that the idea of it would be ridiculous, but it wasn't a risk she could take. She couldn't profile herself. So, instead, she tried to put the worry entirely out of her head.

Regardless of whether or not the team would believe it, there was nothing to believe anymore. She and Hotch were done. It was the decision that she had come to during his time off. She had done her job without distraction, and she had gone home every night and tried not to stare at his number in her phone. She had forced herself to stay busy, to watch TV or read a book, because otherwise, her fingers itched to text him. And that was pathetic, because he wasn't texting her. Two weeks in, ignoring his existence had become a little easier. She didn't need her fix, anymore. It needed to stay that way, because if she dipped her toe back in again, if she swam too far out into those waters, one day she might not be able to return to shore.

A few hours and several drinks later, spirits at the table had lifted somewhat. The cloud of their day, of the case, was lifting and the promise of a weekend off let them relax a little. Derek was flirting shamelessly with some girl, from across the crowded bar. He kept throwing her smiles and little eyebrow wiggles that had Emily and JJ in first of giggles and gagging as they teased him relentlessly. Even Reid was getting a jibe in here and there.

"I've not seen anyone's eyebrows do this much work since De Niro in Taxi Driver." Even Penelope had a comment to make, and the other's dissolved into laughter at that.

Claire interrupted their teasing, having wandered over to their table, tray in hand. There was just one drink standing on the tray, a large glass of red wine which she placed in front of Emily.

"Uh, I didn't order this-" Emily tried to protest, but Blondie shook her head.

"Good job you're not with the suit, because someone else has their eye on you." She nodded towards the bar.

Emily, tongue caught between her teeth as she finished laughing at something Reid was saying, turned, hair swishing across her shoulders. Across the dark room, across the foggy dancefloor, through the strobe lighting, she could just about make him out, leaning casually against the bar, but very obviously looking in her direction. As she watched, he lifted his own short glass towards her in a toast. It was the same guy who had offered to buy her a drink that one time a few weeks ago, the night of the Superbowl. His hair was still in that floppy style, and even across the bar, as the strobe lights glinted off of his eyes, she could see the playful mischief in them as he raised his drink in her direction. She studied him, tongue tracing her lips, a little smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Hello," Morgan remarked, cheekily dragging out the word, "Someone's got an admirer, huh?"

"Jealous, beefcake?" Penelope teased him, to an eruption of laughter from JJ and Reid, as his face fell a little. The only one who didn't laugh was Emily, too busy maintaining that awfully loaded eye contact with the guy.

"Oh, she's interested." JJ said, smirking, and maybe she was. After all, there was nothing so good as a palette cleanser to help her move on from Hotch.

"Are you gonna go over there?" Reid asked.

"Are you kidding? He's gorgeous!" JJ said, as though it were obvious, "Of course she's not going to go over there." Reid, though, who was oblivious to the laws of dating, or even the laws of flirting, looked confused.

"The prey doesn't chase the predator, kid," Morgan told him, and was rewarded by looks of pure distaste from the women around the table. He looked affronted, "What?" He said, defensively, "We all know you ain't going over there; you're gonna wait until he comes to you."

"Yeah, like he's gonna come over while you lot are prowling around." Emily replied, taking a sip of the wine. It wasn't the same as her last glass, which had just been a lazy house red. This was a nice glass, fruity and very dry. Expensive.

"She's got a point," JJ nodded, pointedly glancing at each of them, in turn. Emily felt the air move as they all, simultaneously, stood up.

"No, no-" She made to grab for JJ's arm, but the blonde slid out of her reach before she could, casting a mischievous grin over her shoulder as she and Reid headed for the opposite end of the bar to her admirer, and Penelope herded Derek towards the dancefloor, which she had been trying to do all night. Morgan blew her a kiss as they went, tormentingly.

Emily, now sitting alone at the table, turned to her wine, trying not to look too conspicuous but knowing she had seconds, momends, before he joined her. She was entirely unsure of how she felt about it, and rapidly tried to sort through those feelings before he sidled up alongside her. She sipped her wine, then set it back down, swirling her finger around the rim of the class and completely ignoring the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if he had left his post at the bar yet.

She felt him approach, though, predictably, a moment later. He slid up to the table with a subtle little cough in the back of his throat, and a warm smile on his face, though his left eyebrow was slightly raised in a cheeky, playful way. "Hey."

"Hey," Emily replied, tilting her head to look up at him. There was a similar smirk playing about her lips, because she knew they were both thinking the same thing. They were remembering the last time he had offered to buy her a drink, when she had turned him down. He knew he was pushing his luck this time, but had done it anyway, and she knew he was nervous as hell because of it. It was kind of cute, but she wasn't going to let him know that.

"So, I know you said no last time-" He started, and Emily abruptly cut him off, her voice taking on a teasing tone that carried just a hint of scolding.

"And nobody ever taught you that no means no, right?" She showed him her teeth, grinning up at him, and he gave a short, nervous laugh. Emily folded her hands beneath her chin, lifting her eyebrows, enjoying seeing him sweat just a little bit.

"No, of course they did-" He said, and it was kind of nice to see a grown man stumble over his words. Emily bit her tongue between her teeth, feeling just a little bit powerful as she practically saw the thoughts buzzing around in his head. "I'm sorry. I guess this isn't the best first impression, after all."

"You're fine," Emily said, shaking her head and waving her hand, "Thank you for the drink…" She trailed off, expectantly.

"Scott," He held out a hand and Emily placed her own into it, delicately. He held her fingers firmly but gently, a little formal for this kind of meeting, but she knew that was his nerves. She made him nervous. Good.

"Thank you for the drink, Scott." She studied him and the smile lines around his eyes, the smattering of freckles across his tanned nose. He slid into JJ's vacated seat beside her, flexing a hand on his thigh and resting a foot on the wooden beam of her seat. She couldn't quite place an age on him, but thought he might be around her age. There was something boyish about him, though, that made her feel as though he could be ten years younger. Emily decided to just ask. "How old are you, Scott?"

"Twenty-nine." He offered up, immediately. Ah, so younger than her, but not too much younger. "Since you asked, I'm going to forego my manners for a moment and ask how old you are…?" It was his turn to trail off, mimicking her earlier cadence, and she smiled.

"Emily." She said, then hissed through her teeth. "Second mark against you, there, Scott, asking a lady her age." She joked, and he slapped his thigh, acting mockingly disappointed with himself. "I'm thirty-two."

"Not a chance," He said, immediately, shaking his head and Emily rolled her eyes. "I know that sounds like such a line, but I'm serious. I thought you were my age, or younger."

"You really wanna earn back those points, huh Scott?" She teased, grinning, and he barked out a laugh. She liked his laugh; it was easy and light and he gave it readily. "Bet you're regretting this now," She indicated her drink, "Now that you know I'm decrepit, huh?"

He laughed again, and she smiled. "I don't know," He said, in a tone she was very familiar with; one that told her he was about to lay the flirting on heavy. "I've always been into older women."

"Okay, strike three," Emily said, slapping her palms on the wooden table and making to stand up.

"Wait, wait-" Scott laughed, reaching for her, and she sat down, smiling, as he tugged gently on her hand.

"Older women aren't going to be into you if you keep calling them that," She said, huffing out a laugh, "especially if they're only just on the other side of thirty, buddy."

"Let me start over, please?" Scott asked, flashing her a smile that revealed those perfectly white teeth. As someone who took pride in her own teeth, that was something Emily looked for in people she was attracted to. Scott definitely ticked that box for her.

Scott, Emily decided, as they conversed, was easy. He had a sweet, boyish charm about him that was endearing. It made her relax into their conversation without even realising it. It also helped, she supposed, that he was very easy on the eyes. She liked that floppy hair, and the smattering of stubble across his strong, sharp jaw. Truthfully, he looked like he belonged more on a runway than out in the field, but then so did Morgan.

"I've heard that before, honestly," Scott said, when she voiced this opinion to him, having the decency to look a little bit shy at the compliment. "It's never been for me, though. I mean, I get in front of the camera and I become this goofy dork."

"I'll have no dork slander," Emily said, holding up her hand to stop him, "I'm a self-proclaimed nerd and proud of it, so there'll be no defamation while I'm around."

"You're not a dork." He shook his head, and Emily raised her eyebrows, challengingly.

"Oh no?"

"Not a chance. You reek of popular girl energy." He said, confidently, and Emily scoffed a laugh into her wine glass.

"Yeah, well, I've heard that one before," She admitted, but shook her head. "That was never me. I was never in one place long enough." His eyebrows went up, and Emily wasn't sure why she felt so comfortable sharing this with him, but she gave a little shrug of her shoulders, "My mom's work had us moving around a lot. I went to like…six," She thought hard, "No, seven different high schools in four years. Being the new girl feels like being the popular girl, while everyone's trying to figure you out, for about five minutes. Kids get bored quickly, though."

"What about the academy?" Scott pushed, unconvinced. Emily ran her tongue across her lower lip, biting at the corner of her mouth to fight the smile that threatened, and he pointed a finger at her, "I knew it!"

"That's not the-popular isn't a thing in college, or at the academy!" Emily defended, "I wasn't popular, I was just…" She trailed off, looking for a word she could use that didn't make her sound entirely conceited. There were none, so she settled on, "Good."

"Good at what?" JJ appeared, eyebrows raised, at Emily's shoulder, wrapping her arm around her neck. She reached for Emily's wine glass, bringing it to her lips. Emily pursed her lips at her, glancing between her and Scott.

"Uh, academy training," Emily said, watching JJ sip her drink, "Scott, this is JJ. JJ, this is Scott."

"JJ?" Scott asked, politely, as he shook her hand.

"Jennifer Jareau," JJ said, "Media liaison for the BAU."

"The BAU?" Scott's eyebrows shot up; he was evidently impressed. JJ glanced at Emily, a question in her eyes and Emily gave the tiniest shake of her head, her eyes full of chastisement. Scott caught this, turning back to Emily, a small smile on his full lips. "Did it just slip your mind to mention that you were part of the FBI's crown jewel unit?"

Both Emily and JJ rolled their eyes, simultaneously - although there was the usual wave of pride that always came from the BAU getting the recognition and respect that it - and they - deserved from other units. More often than not, they came across agents who were jealous of the BAU's success, so whenever they were complimented, they all basked in it.

"How does it feel to be a celebrity at Quantico, huh?" He quipped, smirking as he turned warm eyes back to Emily.

"Oh, please," She shook her head, trying to hold back a smile, "You didn't even know who we were!"

"Maybe not but I sure know what the BAU is. Your reputation precedes you," He inclined his head, in reverence, and Emily rolled her eyes. JJ caught her eye, raising one eyebrow and Emily knew what that expression meant. It meant she liked Scott, it meant she thought he was hot. It meant go for it.

He was right; their reputation did precede them. They both should have been proud of that fact, but years of forced modesty - Emily's from her strict and upper-class upbringing and JJ's from the Southern manners her traditional father instilled in her, as well as both of them simply being conditioned into modesty as a result of being born female - made them both shake their heads, as though shaking off the compliment. But while JJ still managed a slight, proud smile, Emily couldn't give one that reached her eyes as the feeling that had been chasing her around for months now, the one that made her feel like an imposter in her own life, gnawed away at her insides. Whereas JJ's smile was genuine, because she had every right to be proud, because she had earned her way into the BAU, had been selected at twenty-four years old and had consistently displayed exactly why in the years since, Emily was a fraud, a plant, and, once again, she had been handed something that she hadn't earned because it benefitted someone with more power than she had.

Those emotions all passed over her quickly, and Emily thought she had schooled her expressions, as she always did but when she came back to herself, she found Scott's eyes on her, his brow furrowed slightly with concern. "You okay?"

Unused to someone being able to read her so well, and a little amazed by it, Emily nodded, but her eyes studied him, as he nodded back and the frown disappeared. His eyes stayed on her, watching her carefully. He squinted one, as though he didn't really believe her, and that made her smile which, in turn, broke a smile onto his face, too.

JJ, glancing between the two of them, could see that she was in the way here. There was clearly a connection between the two of them, and why shouldn't there be? They were both young, single (Emily was, at least, and she had to assume the same for Scott) and hot. Why shouldn't they be interested in one another? She set Emily's wine glass back down onto the table and stepped away, heading back to the bar where she had left Spencer, dodging bodies on her way.

"She didn't need saving, then?" Spencer said, swivelling on his stool as a child. JJ shook her head as she climbed back onto the stool beside him, raising her eyebrows.

"Apparently not," She reached for her own drink, her eyes finding Emily and Scott across the bar, where they were laughing at a joke that she couldn't hear.

She left the bar with him.

She wasn't going to take him home. Well, she was, but he was going to walk her to her apartment and then turn around and go home. That was the plan, anyway.

His kiss was gentle, questioning, until she tilted her head back and parted her lips. Then it was confident, claiming, and Emily wrapped her arms around his neck. The lamppost at her back was cold, his body pressed against her front was warm and solid. His hand, though, as it crept beneath the hem of her shirt to press against the skin of her back, was cold, and she whined into his mouth.

"Sorry," He smiled against her lips. She shook her head, biting her lower lip, smiling too.

"S'fine," She muttered, before pulling him back to her for a kiss.

She was searching for something, in that kiss. It was sweet and sexy and hot, but there was something missing. Emily kissed him harder, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, but still she couldn't find whatever it was she was looking for. Frustrated, she pulled away from him, running her tongue over her lips.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked, breathing heavily. Emily nodded, but was saved from replying by her phone ringing in her back pocket.

"Oh," He stepped backwards as she tugged it free and looked at the screen. The number wasn't saved into her phone, but it was vaguely familiar, so with an apologetic glance at him, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Agent Prentiss." Emily's blood ran cold at the voice.

"Ma'am." She said, tersely. Scott frowned at her, questioningly, but she just shook her head. Sliding out from in front of him, she walked a few paces away. She was sure that she didn't need him hearing whatever Strauss had to say to her.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Agent Prentiss, Agent Hotchner is returning to work on Monday." Of course she was aware, she couldn't have been more aware if she tried. "As of then, you'll report to me as regards to his actions."

"Ma-am-" Emily said, trying to cut across her, but Erin just raised her voice and spoke over her.

"This is what I put you on the team for, Agent." She said, her words heavy. "You owe me. It's time to pay up."

The line went dead before Emily had a chance to say any more. She stood there, the line tone ringing in her ear, for a moment. Cursing under her breath, she turned back to Scott as she slid the phone back into her pocket.

"Can we, uh, raincheck on…this?" She asked, a slightly embarrassed, slightly apologetic smile on her face.

She knew he was a gentleman when he smiled at her, nodding without hesitation. "Of course." He said, stepping up to her. He put his hands on her hips and leaned his head down to press a kiss to her lips. She let him, but her heart wasn't in it like it had been before. He didn't seem to notice. "I'll call you?"

Emily forced a smile onto her face as she nodded and said goodnight, watching him walk away down the street and feeling confused somewhere between disappointed and relieved.

Being suspended was embarrassing, to say the least.

It had gnawed at his insides and made his neck sweat, walking out of the BAU, briefcase in hand and feeling though everyone who saw him knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner had a black mark against his name. Even though nobody beside his team and Anderson would know (he had sworn the latter to secrecy), he felt as though all eyes were on him, anyway.

The very last thing he had expected that night was for Emily to show up. In the face of his disgrace, of Haley's confusion and disappointment, there she had been. And she still wanted him, even if he was disreputable. Though she shouldn't have been there, though it was dangerous for them both, her presence soothed him even as it electrified him. She kissed him. She wanted him. He had dragged them both into such a mess. He deserved this shame, the embarrassment and the disgrace of it all. He certainly didn't deserve her, though. Nor Haley.

Haley, who had barely spoken to him in the weeks leading up to his suspension, had comforted him first. As he explained, his eyes downcast in shame, she had opened her arms and invited him in, embracing him. She rubbed his back, soothingly, and told him it would be okay and Aaron Hotchner, all six-foot-one of him, let himself melt into her touch, let himself be comforted by her. For the first time in a long time, he let himself relax against her. They settled onto the couch, his head on her chest as she stroked his hair, and Hotch was just there, at that moment. It was easy, too easy, to fall back into their relationship, but they did it anyway.

For the first time in a long time, Haley invited him into their marital bed. He hesitated, but not long enough for her to see it; she seemed to think that his suspension meant they were trying again, that they were getting their marriage back on track. He barely touched her all night, too scared of seeing Emily's face instead of hers. Haley didn't push, didn't even try to initiate anything intimate; they weren't there, yet, and he was glad. Relaxed from her bath, she'd come to bed in comfortable cotton pyjamas, soft and smelling like an angel, and had curled into his side. Habitually, Aaron had pulled her in, wrapping an arm around her slight back. It was routine, it was comfortable, and it was tainted. Haley, though, settled in as close as she could, tucking her face under his chin, her nose brushing against his stubble, and sighed, contentedly. Oblivious.

"I missed this." She admitted, quietly. It was like a gut punch. Obviously, he had missed this, too, and it would be a lie if he claimed otherwise; the familiarity of Haley's petite form at his side, the comfort he took from the scent of her shampoo. They had been together for twelve years. She was an intrinsic part of his life, of his young adulthood. It was Haley with whom he had grown up.

Over the next two weeks, he played his part well, and the Hotchners fell into a routine.

Aaron was the doting husband, and he actively went about his days as though he wasn't desperately missing work, and the beautiful brunette who worked thirty feet from his desk. He woke up early, prepped Haley's lunch for work and took her tea and toast in bed each morning, ran her shower and kissed her goodbye. Usually, it was the other way round; he was always the one rushing out in the mornings, giving her a fleeting, halfhearted kiss. Not once did Haley suspect that his actions might be out of any kind of guilt, and somehow that made it even worse.

During the day, he exercised. He ran for a long time. One day he ran for three hours straight, just to keep himself busy, keep his mind occupied. Then he went home and showered, long, drawn out showers during which he had to fight not to touch himself to the involuntary image of Emily in his mind. Most of the time, he succeeded. He straightened the house, even though it was already clean and tidy. Then he fixed up something for dinner. A couple of times he had to go to the store for ingredients, that was exciting, getting to leave the house for something other than a jog around the neighbourhood. Then, dinner prepped, he sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, and tried to pretend his brain wasn't shrinking in his head, like he wasn't desperate to call into the office and find out what was going on. He didn't even know if they'd been called out on a case.

Every day was the same, and it was going to drive him crazy, but Haley was loving it. The guilt ate away at him every time she came home beaming because he was there. Everytime she came through the door and greeted him in a happier tone than she had used in years, his heart sank a little bit. Haley was acting like this was their new forever, like he was going to learn to love being at home, like he was going to realise that yes, this was better. It was a reasonable expectation of hers; that he should want to spend more time at home, with his wife. He expected that she was going to be ready to start building their family soon and perhaps she saw this as practice for that. It all just added to his guilt. Why didn't he want that? A year or so ago, they'd been talking about it. Give it a year, they had said, and they would revisit the baby conversation. That year was quickly drawing to a close, and yet Hotch knew he had never felt less ready, and that was mostly because he already had one foot out of this relationship.

There were parts of being at home that he did like. It was nice to do some cooking; he so rarely got into the kitchen when he was working, either because of his long hours or because he simply wasn't there, but was working away on cases instead. Eating fresh food, impressing Haley with his cooking like he did when they first started dating, was familiar, fun. Cooking was something Hotch loved. It had started out of necessity; his mother had gone pretty much catatonic once his father died, and Sean needed to be fed, so Aaron had been forced to step up. He learned the basics, and found that he actually enjoyed cooking, regardless of the origin of his hobby. It was one of the main ways he had courted Haley. Getting back to cooking felt good, felt easy. Life was running at a different pace than it did when he was at the BAU. And Haley loved it, too.

One night, Haley kissed him before bed, as she always did, but then she lingered. Her lips were soft against his own. The hand on his chest travelled slowly up to his neck, into his hair, and her lips against his were hot. Hotch's eyes were open, his mind working quickly, panic and arousal fighting for dominance. He lifted his hand, resting it on her waist, and Haley melted against him, the length of her body pressed against his. As he rolled them over, a thought flit through his mind.

I have to tell Emily.

A week into his suspension, they were tangled together on the sofa, Haley's legs thrown over his. She was wrapped in a robe, snuggled up against his chest with a cup of tea clasped in her hands. The television blared some romantic comedy she had chosen, and Hotch played, absently, with her hair. He was settled, relaxed, and completely unprepared for what she said next.

"Maybe you should think about transferring departments." She said it so softly, so casually, that Hotch wasn't even sure she'd said it at all, until he blinked, and frowned down at her, replaying the words in his head.

"What?"

Haley turned to face him, looking at him over her shoulder, "We've had a good week, haven't we?" She lifted a hand, to brush his hair from his forehead, and her palm was warm from holding the mug. "Don't you like this? Being at home for the evening, dinner together? Cuddling on the couch, sleeping in the same bed again?" Leaning in, she kissed his lips, then his jaw, her lips leaving a hot trail behind.

Somehow, that conversation was the only one they had, and it seemed a decision had been made. She wasn't wrong; it was nice to be at home, to spend time with her, to feel like they had during the early days of their marriage. Maybe he could get used to it. He was on the other side of forty now; it was time he started thinking about children, and he knew that a job at the BAU wasn't conducive to that. He hadn't mentioned it to Haley yet, that he might be getting ready to be a dad, because he knew she would take that and run with it, but the thought had crossed his mind a few times, and maybe it was for the best.

The two weeks passed quickly, in the end. It had been days since Emily had even crossed his mind. He and Haley were back into a rhythm, back on track, or so it seemed. She definitely seemed to feel that way, but the second Monday rolled around and he was up, out of bed and dressed before seven, humming in the kitchen as he prepared his coffee. Haley woke up, reached across the bed for him and found it empty. She frowned into her pillow, pushing herself up onto her elbows. The morning air was chill against her back, and her thighs ached from the night before. She frowned at the clock; 7:40. She was late. For two weeks, Aaron had woken her with coffee and toast. Rolling over, Haley sat up. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back from her face. She knew then, with the immediate absence of the morning routine they'd gotten into, that nothing had really changed.

"You could be a little less excited to leave," She said, sharply, as she walked into the kitchen. Reaching for the coffee pot and finding it empty, she sighed heavily, and her tone grew more irritated, "And you could have brewed enough coffee for two."

"I didn't think you were at work today, I'm sorry." Hotch said, from where he sat at the island, paper in his hand. Years ago, seeing him sitting there in his freshly starched suit, coffee cup in one large hand, newspaper or a file in the other, Haley had found him so attractive. When he first started his job at the BAU, it was exciting and sexy. Now, it was just another day that she resigned herself to dinner alone.

"Are you going to tell Erin today?" She asked, and his heart dropped in his chest. He had all but agreed to leave the BAU. Still, Haley noted his hesitation.

"Aaron, you said-"

"I know." He didn't actually remember saying much at all, but they had come to a conclusion together, mostly wordlessly; things could be better for them without his job getting in their way. What Haley didn't know was that there was something other than his job getting in the way of their marriage now, and that Hotch had ulterior motives for wanting to leave the unit. "I'll talk to her."

And he did.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," Erin said, with more than a hint of smugness, and he ached to withdraw his resignation, simply because it was what she had always wanted. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He frowned at her game playing; even now, when she had what she wanted, she was still trying to win, trying to enforce her superiority over him, by implying that he would have to apply for another department. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU," like you wanted, "then I would have my choice of posts."

"Well I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation." So it wasn't just him under investigation, but the whole unit. He felt himself grow hot under the collar, and pressed his lips together, to keep from saying something he knew he would later regret. "You were a prosecutor," Strauss was saying, "What about heading up a white-collar task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

She was gloating, and not bothering to be particularly subtle about it, either, but he refused to take the bait. He couldn't make this any worse than it already was. Then Emily walked in.

It was like a punch to the gut, seeing her again. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. Gone was her wavy hair, with the little flicks under her chin. Now, she was wearing it completely curly, and it gave her a youthful, playful aura. Her lips were dark with lipstick. It wasn't to him that she looked, as she stepped into the office, but to Erin, and what he saw in her eyes was pure, unfiltered distaste, and it surprised him. Emily all but turned her nose up at the Section Chief. He didn't miss the frown on Erin's face; there was something like suspicion in her expression.

"Sorry to interrupt." Her tone was cutting, her eyes steel as they moved over Erin. When she turned them on him, finally, her lashes were endless, her eyes warmed once more and he knew that she had missed him. Suddenly, everything he had suppressed over the past two weeks washed over him once more. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

His first thought was a selfish one; that he wouldn't see her everyday, anymore. He, too, was resigning from the BAU, though. Wasn't he? Hotch turned his whole body towards her, his brow furrowing in concern and confusion. He tried to put as much into his eyes as he could, but not so much that Erin would see his emotion there. For Strauss, he tried to appear only as the concerned boss. He gave the tiniest shake of his head. "I don't understand." He did, though, really. He glanced between Emily and Strauss, wishing the latter wasn't here, so he could speak frankly to Emily. So he could tell her she didn't have to quit; he was quitting, so that she could stay.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam," She explained, trying and failing to sound excited about it, "With my connections, I stand a good chance of landing in the State Department." She tried a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. This wasn't how he had expected their first encounter back to go.

"Pretiss, I think that's a mistake." He used her surname, because Erin was there, but he hoped she could hear how earnest he was. They couldn't both abandon ship; the team needed stability and losing two members at once would rock the boat. There was more than that, though, in his words, and he hoped she could hear it.

She could, but she gave him a little smile, nonetheless. He wouldn't change her mind on this one.

"Well, don't try to talk me out of it," he had to work to not focus too hard on her lips as she spoke, "Garcia saw my name on the list and she already tried." She gave a laugh, her lips spreading into a grin, revealing perfect teeth, "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

He was staring at her, his mind working quickly, trying to make sense of this, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was barely a movement, just Erin's eyes flitting, sideways, towards Emily, at her last comment, but he frowned. There was something there, he was sure of it. Something was not quite right. Emily saw his eyes on Erin, and glanced between them.

"Sorry," She said, "For the interruption."

Emily turned to leave, and, again, Aaron cursed Erin's presence, wanting to call her back, wanting to ask her to, please, explain. He wanted to be close to her, but knew that he couldn't, that had to be done with, for both of their sakes. At the door, Emily paused and turned back to him.

"Sir," Hearing her call him that, and not Aaron, not even Hotch, was strange, "It's good to see you back." Brazenly, Emily turned her eyes on Strauss, not even trying to hide her contempt, "The team needs you." She paused, letting her words sit heavily in the air between the three of them, and it was almost a threat. "Ma'am."

Aaron didn't think he had ever heard such venom put into a single word, and as Emily turned to leave the room, he thought he almost saw Erin flinch.