There was supposed to be more to this chapter, but I got ahead of myself… I'm sorry, and it appears as though this will be a more H/P story. Can't help it, so sorry. Dense chapter. And sorry for the slow updates, school's busy, but next week is my last. After that weekend I'm all free to write. Expect an update for TLD then, and if anyone has any ideas for my next chapter, PLEASE FEEL FREE! As always, R&R!

This is a continued recounting of their last memory of her.

"Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. And today? Today is a gift. That's why we call it the present." –Babatunde Olatunji

The rest of the bar became obscured as Hotch's attention fell solely on Emily when she unsteadily tumbled to the floor. The happenings going on in the bar and surrounding him and his companions became meaningless as it blurred out of his focus, favoring Emily. All he saw was her trembling body, confused and disoriented on the floor, and his compassionate and concerned feelings flared.

He bent down to assist her, and soon after borderline dragging her to her feet, felt her collapse next to him. Unable to watch her fall again he clutched her tightly, nodded to the team to signal that he would make sure she returned home safely, and ushered her out the door. As soon as the cool, night wind hit them, she became ill, and Hotch was reminded of when Jack had contracted nasty food poisoning a month previously from a neglected fish they had caught while on a father-son fishing expedition. He had sat in his chilled bathroom at home, caressing Jack's back gently as he heaved miserably into the toilet. Without much thought, he attended to Emily in a similar fashion, holding her tightly, but offering his succor as well.

It seemed as though any lingering awareness faded as her body shuddered, and he resolved to pay her special attention. Although, he was still reluctant to abandon his team, and he knew there would be hell to pay if Emily learned of his, what she would refer to as "unnecessary" though he'd argue the point, nurturing of her in her time of need. The majority of his instincts screamed at him to escort her home until he could confirm with his own eyes that she was snug in bed, except for the one overpowering one that was intimidated by the sure backlash he would receive as a result. She was a strong, independent woman, after all. He had a vexing feeling that this, what was happening in front of him currently, was not a debut occurrence for her.

"Emily, let's get you home," he muttered in the gaping stillness of the night outside the bar, perhaps more affectionately than initially intended. Not that it mattered much, anyhow; she was on the threshold of fainting altogether, and his feelings could be easily chalked up to a natural impulse to tend to those who required assistance, especially those he cared for on a personal level.

Her eyes looked empty as they stared straight ahead, unseeing, occasionally blinking. With a sinking feeling, it suddenly fell together in his mind; the symptoms all added up, and given their current location, it was extremely plausible. He sighed, reviewing the night in his head like a movie, scene by scene, settling on the free drink. A spark of anger ignited in his chest, but he pushed it aside for now.

A cab, it's headlights dimmed and it's metal flanks shining in the moonlight, rested isolated on the curb. Hotch might not have noticed had it not been for his desperate gaze, sweeping for a fix to the current predicament. Therefore, the lonely cab was like a godsend.

He guided a rather debilitated Emily, which caused him a twinge of regret for not being more suspicious of the pseudo affectionate gift of a free drink. Thoughtfully, he watched Emily as she stumbled like a ragdoll attempting to walk; very limply. He conceded after a few moments of lethargic, baby step like efforts at moving forward towards the moonlit cab. She was an attractive woman, no doubt, although he never was one to take the time to consider this quality of hers during work hours when his mind should be focusing elsewhere. He berated himself harshly for not having been more wary, especially when their waiter knew next to nothing about the heartless predator that had dared set his sights on their Emily. There were a multitude of creeps patrolling a busy bar on a Friday night, looking for the most appealing women to take advantage of. It sickened Hotch, especially when he unfortunately saw it occur so frequently in his line of work. If only he could get his hands on the guy who did this…

But now was not the time. Emily was entirely detached, sluggish, and had he abandoned her now she would have likely collapsed, and Hotch didn't want to think about the events that would surely follow. Not to mention he would feel utterly guilty, which was not a weight he desired on his shoulders when she called him the next morning, sobbing, terrified, alone, unsure, confused, all because he had acted selfishly. This was an outcome he would avoid at all costs.

Taking a firmer grip on her waist, the imaginary sounds of her pathetic weeping echoing in his ears as if to taunt him, Hotch endeavored to reach the cab, which was only a few tantalizing feet away, as rapidly as possible. That being, preferably before Emily completely became a dead weight. At least she was moving her feet as if to walk, which was reassuring. She was trying was what mattered.

"Em, Emily," he cooed, his mouth hovering near her ear in hopes that he could get through to her foggy mind. "Can you hear me?" A languid nod and she managed to direct her hazy eyes towards him. "Good." He took special notice to his tone and the voice he gave himself through his word choice.

He intended to inform her of his current objectives, but instead heard himself blurting out, "are you okay?"

She apathetically giggled, disoriented. "Mm-hmm," she hummed, her mouth uncooperative. She blinked in a futile shot at clearing her head. "Ev'rythin's tilt-y," she slurred, " 'n I'm sleepy."

"I know," he told her. "I'm going to trust you to get home safely, alright?" She acknowledged him with another nod. "This cab driver is going to get you home, but you can get yourself in the door?"

"N'eh'bor 'll 'elp," she said, sounding more tired than drunk (even though she was far from intoxicated, only having indulged in one lone drink). "Nice la'y," she murmured as Hotch propped her up against the side of the door, "bu' she has tha' really lou' 'og, go'amn poo'les."

Really not even bothering to try to decipher whatever it was she was going on about, he leaned in the open window of the passenger door. "Excuse me," he said quietly, careful not to wake him if he was asleep. Evidently he was not; he shifted from under his newspaper with a rustle and peered up at Hotch from the shadows of the car.

"Sir?"

"My friend here was drugged. Do you think you could take her home, make sure she gets in alright? I'll pay you extra."

"Not a problem," he said, delighted no doubt by the promise of an extra few bucks by observing some woman, but nonetheless determined to earn it.

"Thank you," Hotch said, his chest burning with faint, unsatisfied apprehension as he slipped the bills from his wallet. He dictated to the driver her address and walked back to Emily, who was still babbling under her breath. "C'mon," he whispered, leading her nearly slack body into the leather seating. "Be good," he advised with a trace of humor, and she chuckled.

He reached across her gently in order to click her seatbelt in place and her nimble fingers danced absently across his muscled forearms while he did so. He felt uncomfortable for only a few awkward moments while she continued examining his arms, but he felt the discomfort ebb and he came to appreciate the warm feather touches. He purposely stalled setting her seatbelt in place.

"T'ank you," she told him sincerely, smiling lazily at him as he straightened his back. Somewhat reluctantly he closed the car door, watching her grin at him through the window. The car started up and her lipstick covered lips remained in a fond smile that only she could display in that special way of hers that was only Emily. The vehicle pulled away from the curb, gaining speed quickly, and he watched as her smiling face disappeared down the road along with the cab before turning around to reenter the bar and discuss what had just happened with the team.

That was the last he saw of her or heard of her voice for eight months and three days. It would become one of his biggest, most nagging regrets, not to mention curiosities, during that span.