Wow! The reviews on the first part were awesome! Thank you again to all who'd reviewed and to those who'd read it, thank you!

Here is part 2!

Enjoy!

…

Bringing Emily Home

Part 2

Despite the fact that he went to bed late, Hotch was up by 530am; his usual awake-up time.

He was at the office by 730am and nursing a large cup of steaming coffee. Staring at the never receding pile of files, he frowned at the innocent tray before picking up the top folder. It was a report done on a case in Missouri from Ashley Seaver.

This young agent had faced much trauma and throughout, she had survived. She had not turn to drugs or alcohol as was a typical behavior of surviving kin of serial killers.

Dave had done a marvelous job in guiding her throughout her childhood, all the way to adulthood. He had made it possible for her to attend college. Passing with flying colors, she elected to join the FBI. The same agency that put her father away for life.

Dave was so proud of her, like a father would be, for her choice of career that he had rushed to Hotch's office and told him of the news.

A proud father.

And agent Seaver, his by-proxy daughter.

He had kept an eye out of the girl and looked how she had blossomed. And now, she was with the team.

Granted, Hotch wanted her presence for that one case but she had made such an impression that he, SSA Aaron Hotchner aka Agent Hard-Ass, agreed to let her do an internship with them, under the guidance of Dave and Emily.

Emily.

Wherever his thoughts were, it always led back to her.

Had she made such an impact in his life?

Yes.

More than anyone ever had. More so than Haley.

He could not get enough thoughts of her. That was all he could do for now.

When she came back to the Bureau, he would be much more protective of her when the team was out of the field. That would be dangerous; for him, for her, as well as the team.

He liked her as she seemed so much like him; his other half?

No, there was no such thing.

Or was there?

Hotch tried to shut out his arguments and got back to his work but 'they' wouldn't quit his head.

Tossing the file back onto the tray, he turned on his laptop and checked his mail and eyes widened; he saw an encoded message slipped into a spam file. Transferring said file into the recycle bin which was actually a software for encryption files.

Decoding the file, he began to read, and read it again, just to be sure.

Hot damn! So close…he could taste the satisfactory air that was hovering on the edge.

She was going to go down, and all by herself. So deep down that no one will ever know what had happened to her.

No one, especially within the agency, liked a betrayer, a traitor! Sure, no one would miss her; her popularity was almost nil…one could put her name next to Osama bin Laden and everyone would agree about the placement.

If he could just jump up and gave a hearty yell but before he could utter a word, they would be wheeling him to the looney bin. Walter Reed Medical Center in Maryland would love to study him as a specimen.

But both investigative agencies were taking their time with this; they wanted to make sure there was no mistake. One flaw, everyone's career would die. Hotch was not permitted to talk to anyone. As an interim Section Chief, he would have the most obvious motive were he to mention anything about this to anyone.

The information he had received was to be destroyed as soon as possible; preferably within seconds.

His cell phone buzzed.

Five minutes later, he sighed as he stood up; another case.

He wished he had a whole day or maybe half a day to tackle his 'homework' but then again, serial killers and victims did not have timeline, nor do they cater to his needs.

.

As Hotch walked into his hotel room late that night after a fruitless search and profiling. The whole team was exhausted, dragging their feet towards their rooms. They had an early wake-up call.

The 3rd victim's family was arriving in the morning, the team wanted to be there, in the FBI field office, to receive them.

This would not be an easy interview as both parents were diagnosed with cancer. Talk about a triple whammy!

Times like this, he wished Emily, and even JJ, were still here with the team. Emily had a deep sense of compassion for the victims' families that they gravitated to her feelings and opened up to her.

It was always astounding to Hotch to watch her at work. She could get more than satisfactory answers and solutions than most agents, including himself. He figured it was the femininity that made most people felt somewhat safe. And that was no sexist remark, just an honest statement.

Thinking about sexist, his thoughts grabbed an image.

It was the field agent SSA Margaret Holden. She had set her sights on him.

Morgan and Dave were giving him subtle hints but Hotch glared at them, telling them to back off and leave him be. He was not interested in this SSA Holden.

She had not taken any hints at all. All day, since they arrived, she had been stuck to him like glue. At first he thought that she wanted to help, her staying by the side of the leader of the BAU team she had called upon but after half a day had gone by, he realized she had a big crush on him, much to the delights of his team. Even Agent Seaver was amused and had not done anything to discourage Agent Holden.

It's going to be a long investigation! He thought miserably.

Think happy thoughts…Emily…what she was doing at this moment…what was she wearing?

He sat down on the bed and toed off his shoes. Just as he was removing his socks, he realized he was not alone in the room.

Alarm bells rang incessantly as he suddenly felt panicky; George 'The Boston Reaper' Foyet. But the feelings left as soon as it surfaced; Foyet was dead. He had single-handedly and bare-handedly beaten that bastard to death. He had watched the coroner and his team wheeled his dead body out in a body bag. He had to make sure it was him.

Then who was it?

Silently, he removed his weapon and raised it eye level, arm's length in front of him as he moved towards the bathroom.

As he slowly opened the door, he gasped when he saw the person inside.

…

"Geez Hotch! Put that gun away will you?"

Hotch was still in shock but he managed to lower his weapon, his hand pointing down, gun pointing the carpet.

"What? Haven't seen a naked body before?"

"I…you…um…" he tried to form some coherent thoughts together. Admittedly, it had been a very long while since he had seen a naked body, albeit a live one. But her! He was not expecting her!

"Hotch, are you okay?"

Shaking his head, he tried to speak but he was still staring.

He had not seen her like this. And he was not disappointed.

In fact, he felt his body hardened at the delicious glorious sight of her. All his fantasies couldn't compare to this!

"Hotch!"

Finally, he came back down to earth when he heard her voice penetrated into his…fantasies.

"Oh…What are you doing here?" He asked as he holstered his gun.

She smiled, "Taking a shower! Look, I hoped you'd understand. I've been on the road for over three days…a girl can go so long without showers."

He raised his hand and waved at her, "That's not what I'm asking, you know that. And could you put something on? It's uh, distracting."

Reluctantly, he remembered he was a gentleman and sighing inwardly, he turned away from her and walked back to the bed.

"Just give me a minute." She closed the door.

Hotch, his exhaustion hit him, lay flat on the bed, staring at the bland ceiling and tried to think of why she was here. Not just in his room, but here.

It was not time yet.

True to her word, a minute later, she emerged from the bathroom. Hotch felt too tired to sit up, so he turned his head and looked at her. He wanted to be sure it was truly her and not a figment of imagination. He had been thinking about her a lot.

She was brushing her damp hair; she was wearing a plain white T-shirt and pajama bottoms. Bare feet.

Her face was bare of make-up and smiling and it made her even more beautiful in his eyes. He had to remind himself to breathe.

"So, you going to lie there or what?" she asked, her smile widened.

"Or what?" he asked.

She tapped her hairbrush lightly on the side of her right temple, "Well, I'm sure you'd want to get out of that pesky business suit and wear…oh, whatever you wear when you're chilling at home?"

Hotch frowned at her, "I don't chill at home, I relax. But you are right," he said as he sat up and reached for his go bag. "I'm going to change into something comfortable."

He grabbed some clothing items and looking at her, "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll be but a moment and then we will talk." He moved pass her and quickly shut the door behind him in the bathroom. As soon as he was inside, he leaned against the back of the door and closed his eyes.

Emily.

She is here!

In my room.

And she smelled great; her perfume had changed. She no longer wore that feminine scent that was uniquely her all those times she worked with him.

This scent was just soap and shampoo. Nonetheless, she smelled great.

Opening his eyes, he looked around the small room and realized that the soap and shampoo she used was the hotel's complimentary items. Shrugging his shoulders, he straightened and began changing out of his suit and proceeded to brush his teeth.

More than a minute later, he came out and looked around and panicked; she was gone.

Was it his imagine that she was here? Was he that tired to have imagined she was here?

Dejectedly, he moved slowly to the bed.

Sitting down, he leaned against the headboard and thought.

But before an image of Emily appeared in his head, he heard the keycard slot clicked, and the door opened; he needed to ask her how she had a keycard to his room.

"Just me, Hotch!" she whispered loudly.

"I'm right here," he answered as she appeared around the corner.

"Hey! You're not tired are you?" She stood by the foot of the bed, a bag in one hand and a half eaten donut on the other.

"Where…?" he tried to ask.

"Snuck out real quick. There is a donut shop that catered to the police and it stays opened 24 hours except major holidays." She bit into it and began to chew, relishing the taste and texture. "God! I missed them."

Hotch chuckled; it wasn't often he got to see her looking as if she just had s…

Banish that thought! They need to talk. Emily doesn't know about Strauss.

"Never knew I missed these fellas until I smelled them earlier on," she spoke and chewed at the same time. Hotch had a hard time following her.

"Oops!" her eyes widened, "Where are my manners…want one? These just came out from the fryer." she opened the bag towards him.

At first, he was about to shake his head, it was way past midnight but the smell was enticing and she did say it was fresh.

He nodded as she walked to where he was and sat down by him on the edge of the bed, he picked a fresh donut and began to eat.

"Good stuff, huh? Almost better than Krispy Kreme," she grinned as she pulled another one out and bit into it.

"Nothing beats Krispy Kreme," he said. "Although I have to say this is a close one. Thanks."

"Not a problem. It had been a while since I had eaten."

Hotch shook his head as he uttered softly, "Heaven forbade you missed a meal!"

"Huh! I heard that. I can deal without food for…" she frowned as she thought.

"Half an hour," he teased.

Emily's eyes widened, "Oh my god! You're teasing! You do have some sense of humor!"

Hotch watched her, "I always have lots of humor. You know this job sucks them up."

Emily sobered a little, "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. And sad to say, I do miss our team. I miss the rush to find baddies and put them away. Pretty sad, huh?"

"You forgot to mention kicking the shit out of them. Remember the couple of times I had to restrain you?" he asked, a smile appearing as he recalled those incidents.

Emily smiled, "Oh yeah! You were so mad at me, telling…no, yelling at me to back off. We didn't want to damage them."

"I didn't say damage…harm them before we could interrogate them," he defended.

"I was interrogating them," she mumbled.

"Well, many people, me included, felt that your techniques are a little too aggressive. They wanted to interrogate them verbally, not physically."

Emily shrugged her shoulders as she popped the last bit of donut, crumpled the bag and tossed it into the trash can by the night table.

And she yawned.

"I guess I should see about getting another room. You can have this one," Hotch said as he was getting out of the bed.

Emily held her hand up and blushed slightly, "Um, actually I um…"

"Emily?" Hotch looked at her and saw that she was blushing. "What now?"

"I told the front lobby that I was your…er…your wife," she almost squeaked her answer.

"My wife!" He yelled, he was wide awake now.

"Well, I had to figure a way to get to you." She flapped her hands as she began to pace.

"My wife?" He repeated, incredulously.

"Please don't keep saying that! I'm sorry!" she tried to look contrite.

"My wife? Why, of all…all bull crap, you came up with this grand idea?" he frowned slightly.

Mrs. Emily Hotchner. Hmmm, kinda have a nice ring to it. He thought

"Look, I need to see you. There is so much information, past and present that I'm sure you'd want to know. I left a lot of baggage behind and I'm sure you have lots of questions," she looked at him earnestly. "And this is something that is for your ears only. For the moment."

Hotch pursed his lips, thinking of what she had said.

Yes, there were so many questions. So many holes. And he was still pissed at her for not coming to him way long before this whole debacle started.

Hotch relented, Emily sighed when she saw the tension left him.

"You are staying?" She had to ask.

Nodding, he moved back to lean against the head board and patted the space next to him.

"We might as well be comfortable."

Instead of moving around the bed to get to the other side, she scrambled onto the bed and crawled passed his legs and settled herself next to him. A couple of inches apart, pillows piled up behind her back to provide a comfortable support.

Hotch arched his eyebrow as he watched her move on the bed and was reminded of a little boy doing exactly that when he couldn't sleep by himself.

"Comfy?" He asked when Emily finally settled down and stopped squirming around; just like Jack.

Emily chuckled as her head leaned back on the pillow, "Now I am."

"Okay. Talk to me. Tell me about this covert operation and how you were recruited. You are obviously a little too young for such operation at that time, who were your trainers? If I get my hands on him, I will wring his neck hard for getting you into that mess."

Emily's eyes widened listening to all these questions. The last one touched her; he cared for her and her well being even though he did not know her much at that time. She smiled at the implication.

And besides, the hard ass Hotch would not have sat down on the same bed with her. He would be sitting on the chair in the corner of the room as he listened to her.

For the next hour, Emily talked. Hotch listened. His brows furrowed deeply at some of the incidents, how harrowing and so dangerous for her. It was a wonder she had lived so far.

The notch of admiration for her rose higher.

"Your trainer?" He was determined to punish that idiotic person for willingly putting Emily in such a position.

"That would be Sean McAllister," she answered quietly. "He was a very good agent as well as a trainer. His death had hit me very hard, as well as the others."

Hotch felt a strange surge of emotion from the pit of his stomach when he heard her talked about McAllister.

Did she have some kind of personal relationship with this person?

Hotch chastised himself immediately; the man was dead.

Why are you jealous of a dead person?

Because that dead man knew more about Emily than he did, and he was envious of any man being so close to her.

As for her relationship with Ian Doyle, it had been very close and personal. The fact that she had taken it to a more than personal level astounded him. If the role was reversed, would he get to a suspect that close to get what he wanted?

Maybe. Whatever it took.

"I'm sorry about his death," he said.

She nodded; her head down, hands on her knees.

"It's not fair that I lived and he didn't. He warned everyone involved in the operation and tried to keep us save. It shouldn't be that way and his family too."

Hotch, impulsively, grabbed her left hand and held it, hoping to provide some strength.

Emily smiled her gratitude but she didn't look at him.

"I'm sure he'd done all he could. In the end, Doyle and his people got the upper hand. But you should let go. Doyle is dead…I would like to know how," he asked her as he lightly squeezed her hand.

Briefly, Emily told him.

Doyle had been searching for his son, Declan. He had used all the resources he had, including Clyde Easter. Emily, correctly guessing Clyde had betrayed her, followed him instead of hunting Doyle.

Doyle, fallen into the trap, believing Emily had died during their altercation, became complacent. He was confidently not looking his back, where she was hot on his trail. And he was alone.

The FBI took out most of his men, the few that survived were sent to find his son.

Doyle became frustrated and desperate and finally Emily saw her opportunity. And the end of the whole situation only took one bullet. True to her skill, it struck him right between his eyes. He died instantly, not knowing who or what struck him.

Her last words as she stared at his dead body, his eyes were still opened, "I hope you can see who killed you. And if you do, rot in hell, Ian Doyle. You will never find out where your son is. He is safe from a monster like you."

And she walked away, leaving Denmark and headed for home.

She hoped things would get back as normal as could be. She hoped that those she had deceived would forgive her.

She had hoped to close that whole chapter of her life.

As she yawned for the fifth time, Emily remembered something; it had been bugging her but she couldn't. It had been quite some time since she last slept. Since arriving back here in the country, she drove hell-bound to catch up with the team, specifically Hotch.

"There is something I need to ask you but I'm so tired…" her eyes finally closed as her breathing deepened.

"Emily?" Hotch shook her hand lightly as he looked at her; yep, she was dead asleep.

Watching her for a moment or two, Hotch realized he was not far from sleep. He thought about rearranging themselves under the covers but that thought floated away as he too closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep.

Through the early hours, they slept thus; on top of the covers, their hands clasped.

…End of Part 2…

You know what to do…that little button…

Thank you!

Lizzie