Author's Note: I was randomly flipping channels this month and stumbled over GG's very last episode. You know how rare it is to hit the final episode of ANY show you used to watch? It's like looking up and seeing Haley's Comet rolling by. So I decided to stop and watch the whole thing, and that put me in mind of taking a trip back to Stars Hollow again, so here we are :)

Warning: In case you've forgotten that the nature of the case their investigating is quite grisly, this chapter will definitely be reminding you of that fact. Also, we do spend a little time in Lorelai's head, so unlike previous chapters, a prior knowledge of the basics of Stars Hollow's physical layout and GG's supporting characters really would be helpful. If you never watched it, wickipedia could give you a little character summary if I mention anyone you don't know. The show has been off the air for a couple of years so I had to go look up a really basic factoid myself.

This picks up the next morning after they figured out the pentagrams on the map.

Prompt Set #12

Show: Happy Days

Title Challenge: It Only Hurts When I Smile

Falling Into the Crevasse

Hotch tapped his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment before turning and looking across the front seat. He was not so subtly attempting to evaluate his agent's mental state after the hellish morning they'd had so far.

And though he was openly staring at her, it bothered Hotch to see that Emily gave no acknowledgment of his attention. Instead her eyes remained fixed out the still closed passenger side window.

When his gaze shifted to see what she was looking at, it immediately lit upon the side mirror where he could see her sadness being reflected back to them.

Feeling a dig in his stomach, Hotch bit his lip as he turned to look back out the windshield again. Directly in front of them was the main entrance of the home that they had just left.

It was a white house with yellow shutters and window boxes full of bright red flowers. The flowers were pretty, and he knew that his mother used to plant them too but for the life of him Hotch couldn't remember what they were called.

It bothered him that he couldn't remember. It seemed important somehow. But still he moved on, his gaze flickering over the welcome mat placed in front of the bright yellow door and the potted plants lining the steps.

Those flowers were nameless to him too.

After his gaze shifted up the stairs again, Hotch's eyes suddenly stopped their assessment of the home, instead locking on the wooden swing hanging down on the side of the wraparound porch. It was painted the same cheerful sunny hue as the rest of the detail work on the house. And right now the wooden structure was swaying slightly in the warm spring breeze.

It was the only thing moving in his line of sight.

Though his inclination was to stare . . . he was afraid to do that. Afraid that the image would burn into his brain. So with the same faint reluctance felt when looking away from a car accident, Hotch tore his eyes away from the swing.

The swing was now best known to those in law enforcement as The Place Where the Basket Had Been Left. And then his vision again took in the house on the whole.

It appeared to be a nice home. It once was a nice home.

Now it was a place where nightmares reigned.

For a few seconds longer Hotch stared out the front window as Emily stared out the side one. And then a dog barked and Emily jumped. It was enough to snap Hotch's attention back to the matter at hand . . . getting the hell out of there. So with a weary sigh, he started the ignition, put the car in reverse and turned to look over his shoulder.

God help them . . . he moved his foot to the gas . . . they still had four more families to visit.

As he backed out of the long dirt driveway down onto the long dirt road, Hotch debated with himself as whether to pull over and make Emily tell him what had happened in her interview with the daughter.

He was about to do it, but then another quick glance in her direction changed his mind . . . no, no it was too soon. She wasn't ready to talk.

His eyes snapped back to the dusty road he'd just turned onto . . . it was obvious that she wasn't doing well though. Of course even from his side . . . just handling the parents at these homes . . . it had been a truly awful morning. And he knew that each consecutive interview with each consecutive crying child was taking a terrible toll on Emily's mental state.

They'd called all eleven of the families first thing in the morning and asked if they could stop by and meet with their children either before or after school.

Most of the parents had said they'd just keep them home.

So they'd started their interviews at seven thirty and it was now almost one, so that was five solid hours of, of . . . he felt an ache in his gut . . . grief. That was the only word for it. It didn't matter that the grief was for a lost pet, it made the emotion no less valid. And it made the experience of immersing themselves in these people's pain no less difficult.

Given that in all of these situations, a few to several months had passed since their animal had been slaughtered, Hotch . . . intellectually . . . had anticipated that on some level these families would have come to terms with what had happened.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

These were raw scabs they'd picked at today. And as they'd gone along he'd come to see that his own somewhat jaded view of the world had tainted his expectations. He was used to dealing with the grieving relatives of dead people, so he had thought by comparison that the grief over lost pets would be less . . . less, well, after talking to those families he couldn't pick a lesser word that didn't make him sound like a jerk even if his own head.

The bottom line here was, he'd fucked up. Because though he'd known from the photos and incident reports that these people . . . specifically the children . . . had experienced genuine traumas, what he hadn't anticipated was just how differently the reaction to these traumas would have been than the type that Hotch was used to dealing with.

They hadn't been taken seriously.

They were just dead pets. Pets died all the time. Granted . . . he thought bitterly . . . they weren't usually shredded into pieces in the process, but still, it was a "routine" life experience. So after a couple days everybody else, everybody outside the immediate family, simply . . . forgot. And even within the family, most of these parents didn't have a clue what to do for their kids. If these losses had been human, then the children would have received attention and sympathy and trauma counseling.

That hadn't happened either.

These were not experiences that could simply be forgotten because society expected them to be forgotten. These mutilations had made him and Emily sick! So what the hell had happened to these lay people who had been expected to simply suck it up and forget about it?

Bad things. That's what had happened, bad things. Those wounds had begun to fester and they were clearly leaving marks on these families.

Ugly ones.

They had discovered today that all of the children were having difficulties concentrating in school, their grades had dropped. Many had behavioral issues, nightmares, and clear signs of undiagnosed depression. And as Hotch had expected, Emily's softer touch had been what that these children responded to best, so she was the one that had taken point on probing those still tender . . . still horrifying . . . memories.

Though Hotch felt guilty that she was the one that had received the brunt of the load today, there was no other way to get it done. His jaw started to twitch . . . one thing was clear though, regardless of how bad the rest of those interviews had been, it was definitely that last family . . . that last child . . . that had really put Emily into this state she was in now.

The house they'd just left had been their seventh interview and she had been getting more and more subdued as they finished up with each family. He'd been getting worried, and now she seemed practically catatonic.

Still though, he reminded himself that prior to this last visit, she'd been voluntarily engaging with him as they walked to the car. Asking where next, how many more . . . telling him what she'd learned.

But this last house . . . there was something different here. Emily hadn't spoken a word since she'd walked out of the daughter's bedroom.

And that last family . . . he bit his lip as he turned right and pulled onto the paved road again . . . was the Hendersons.

Daughter Cindy, age seven, had discovered her four month old Labrador puppy dead one day this past March. Her puppy's name had been Ralphie and he'd been cut into quarters, his eyes had been gouged out and a spike had been driven through his head. He'd been left on the family's front porch swing in a picnic basket with a pink ribbon tied on the top.

Cindy thought it was an early birthday present.

According to her parents, even hours after the sheriff had left with the remains, Cindy had still been so hysterical that they'd decided to bring her to the county hospital. She'd been sedated, and kept overnight for observation. And even with the drugs in her small system, she'd still woken up screaming almost a dozen times over ten hours. Night terrors.

Night terrors that continued to this day. Her parents said it was a good night if she could get through three hours of sleep before the screaming began. And she woke up at least three times a night so basically they slept when she slept or they got no rest at all. Her mother had begun to cry when she said that it was living with an infant again.

But one that they had no hope of getting any older.

Basically this family had been living in a special little corner of hell for the last ninety-seven days. And when they'd gone to see them earlier that morning, he and Emily had been shocked to see the streak of white hair on little Cindy's seven year old head.

That had not been in the police report.

And looking back, that should have been Hotch's first clue not to leave Emily alone with her. Whatever evil had touched that house was above and beyond what they'd already experienced that morning.

But unfortunately he had left the two of them alone . . . alone for almost forty-five minutes.

He would have interrupted her sooner but the parents had been desperate to tell him their story, to ask him what they should do. Nobody would help them. Every night their daughter woke up screaming, and every morning she woke up in a pool of her own urine. Prior to Ralphie's death in March, Cindy hadn't wet her bed since she was three.

Now she slept on rubber sheets.

Her parents were at their wits end. The father had been laid off from his construction job just before Thanksgiving, they'd lost their medical insurance three months after that . . . one month before Ralphie was killed . . . and Cindy's emergency room visit and overnight stay at County had eaten up the last of their meager savings. They were surviving on his unemployment checks and the wife's cashiering job at the local supermarket.

These were people that couldn't afford to buy name brand soda let alone send their daughter for the substantive psychological counseling that Hotch knew that she needed if she was ever going to be fully functional again.

And Emily . . . he felt a bitter wave of regret . . . the kindest, most empathetic person he knew, he'd left her alone to bond with a little girl who was so emotionally disturbed that her hair was turning white.

'Good job Aaron,' he thought with disgust, 'real good job!'

He started chewing the inside of his cheek nervously . . . and if Emily was already this depressed right now, what the hell was it going to do to her if he had to pull the plug on this whole investigation tonight? Ordinarily at least the close of a shitty case would result in some satisfaction.

That they had caught their UNSUB.

Most of the time that was of course a bittersweet satisfaction, but here Emily might not get even that much. Because here the species of their victim pool just couldn't warrant him calling in the cavalry to beat down every door in this small community. And barring a major breakthrough in the next few hours, the odds of them tracking down this UNSUB on their own in the limited time left were 30/70 at best.

At best.

So he needed to do something to pick up her spirits now before she had them crushed completely later.

He cleared his throat.

"I know we were planning on working straight through on these interviews but I think it's time to take a break."

When almost a minute passed where Emily said nothing in response, Hotch continued on as though there had no pause from his previous statement.

"And I think," he put his foot down on the accelerator, "that I'd like to try one of Luke's burgers before we leave so we'll go get some lunch at the diner and then start fresh," he paused before flicking his eyes across the seat, "how's that sound?"

They were a good fifteen miles from the center of Stars Hollow, and he had seen a couple of local roadside places in between, but the diner was the only place that he could think to bring her.

That idyllic little town had done something for her yesterday, and he was hoping that it again might cheer her up today.

But unfortunately the only response he got back from his offer to take her to Stars Hollow was a barely audible, "whatever you want. I'm not hungry," and that's when his mild worry started to morph to genuine concern.

He knew that she was upset but even still, Emily was always hungry. Over a ten hour period yesterday she'd eaten a large cheeseburger plus fries, a bag of potato chips, a Snickers bar, almost an entire bag of donuts, a monstrous three course dinner which had included a stuffed chicken, and then she had polished all of that off with a half a box of frosting laden pastry.

Even with their shit job, by his observations over the last few years, that was still an average food intake for her. So if she was losing her appetite completely, that meant that she wasn't just upset, she was getting genuinely depressed.

And for the moment he could think of nothing else to do for her. So he just shot her one more worried look before putting his foot down a little harder on the accelerator and muttering to himself.

"I should have sent Rossi and Reid up for this one."

/*/*/*/*/*/

At 1:16 pm Hotch pulled the rental car up in front of the small market called Doose's. It was the closest open parking spot near the diner, and even though there were many cars parked in the area, he was still hopeful that they were arriving late enough to miss the lunch rush. Given that they were clearly the center of attention yesterday . . . and most likely they would continue to be the center of attention today . . . he'd like to avoid walking into a big crowd in that little restaurant.

Emily was already having a shit day, she'd didn't need to be treated as a sideshow act too.

And as he looked across the seat at her now, he saw that she moving to unbuckle her seat belt, but as he stared at her for a second, she seemed to sense his inquiry, and she stopped, her hand hovering over the button to release the lock. He could see how very carefully she was avoiding looking back over at him.

That didn't prevent him from seeing the glisten in her eyes though.

His stomach started to twist as he undid his own seat belt and then reached across the seat to put his hand on her wrist.

"What did she say to you?" He asked softly.

It was time to find out just how much worse that house had been for her than it had been for him.

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat before her gaze reluctantly shifted up to this man who had always known the exact moment to strike so that he could breach her defenses.

"She said that the bad man was coming back," she responded softly as the tears began to pool, "that's what she dreams over and over, every night for all these months, that the bad man comes back. But . . ."

Emily's voice caught and she stopped, her watery gaze caught in the net of Hotch's gentle one. It was taking everything in her to keep the tears from spilling over. But then she felt the fingers around her wrist tighten before he softly prompted.

"But what Prentiss?"

The cadence of his voice was kind . . . compassionate . . . and Emily knew then that Hotch wasn't asking these questions just in the hopes of learning something more about the case. He was asking these questions so that she would share some of this burden with him.

He was trying to help.

Her eyes dropped down to his tie. It was the one with the red dots . . . she liked that one. A second later she blinked and looked back up to his face, trying to clear the sheen from her eyes.

"But when he comes back," she finished softly, "he does the same thing to Mommy and Daddy that he did to Ralphie. And she finds them in the kitchen, again in baskets with pink bows. And then the bad man comes up behind her and he takes her away," she took a breath, "and he does terrible things to her."

No person, let alone a child, should ever become cognizant of the type of violence that the BAU dealt with on a daily basis. And here this little girl had been exposed to things that even seasoned field agents never saw.

It was a wonder that it was just the one streak of white hair.

And seeing Hotch's jaw clench, Emily bit her lip. "I didn't know what to say," she continued sadly, "so I pulled out my badge and I let her hold it as I promised her that she would be safe and that the bad man wouldn't come back. That I was going to catch him and then he would live in jail where he couldn't hurt anybody ever again," she paused for a moment, "but I was lying to her. I don't know that that we're going to catch him. In fact," she closed her eyes for a moment, "my gut tells me that even if we do, it won't be in time. He's not finished with these families."

Emily shook the sudden flash of terrible images from her head before her eyes snapped back open onto Hotch's again.

"We have to find something Hotch," she pleaded with him, "we can't just leave them like this."

This was hardly the worst case that she'd worked on since she'd been at the BAU, not by half. But she couldn't recall the last time that she'd experienced such a sense of dread.

Usually they were walking into the aftermath of a tragedy, but here it was like they were standing there waiting for the train to hit and choosing not to tell people to get off the tracks. Because after the interviews that morning, there was now no doubt in her mind that whoever had killed those animals would be coming back again. She didn't know how she knew that, she just did. And her experience with intuition was that it was simply her subconscious processing data that her conscious mind hadn't yet filtered.

So she knew that they were missing something . . . and it was something crucial. And as she saw Hotch staring at her, she had a feeling that he knew it too.

"Prentiss," Hotch's voice was kind as he moved his hand down to squeeze her fingers, "I know how hard this morning was, and I know how much you want to help these people. But please don't get your hopes up. Remember that we don't really have a case here yet. So unless we have a major breakthrough you know that most likely we'll be leaving in the morning with nothing more than a box of paperwork that we'll be shipping off to storage as soon as we get back to Quantico."

He agreed that there was something happening in that community, but this wasn't the Wild West. Just because they rode into town with badges and guns didn't mean that they could stay to clean up every mess they found.

It just didn't work like that.

"Yeah," Emily responded to Hotch bitterly as she blinked away the hot tears trying to pool again, "a box of paperwork that we'll be digging out six months or a year from now when the victim pool has morphed from the four legged to the two legged variety," she pulled her hand away from his, "you know as well as I do that this guy isn't going to disappear and go back to just jerking off to torture porn. Not now that he has a taste for the real thing."

Though she knew intellectually that it wasn't Hotch's fault that these terrible things were happening . . . he was the one sitting in front of her. Still, she couldn't deny feeling a stab of guilt when she saw him blink when she shook his hand away.

She'd hurt him.

Feeling a slight sting at her rejection of his support, Hotch stared across the seat, seeing the pain and anger fighting for dominance in Emily's watery brown eyes. As always when he saw her upset, his stomach churned and then he ended up deciding to make a promise that he had no business making.

"All right," he said after a moment, "provided JJ doesn't call today with anything urgent, we'll stay until tomorrow afternoon."

They'd already paid for the rooms tonight anyway, they'd just move back to their departure time.

Seeing Emily's eyes widen in surprise at his announcement, Hotch's gaze shifted over her shoulder.

A woman was pushing a baby carriage on the sidewalk behind her.

"I'm not insensitive to the suffering of these people Prentiss," he said with a slight bit of defensiveness, "and I can see how much damage has already been done here. I also agree that it is unlikely in the extreme that this UNSUB will simply stop hunting. The level and perversity of the violence had already escalated before we arrived so he had to have been honing his technique either on strays or his own family pets. He's also acting out a specific fantasy over and over, and most likely he was watching each of those homes to witness the family's reaction to the quote unquote, "gift" that he left for them."

Hotch's eyes snapped back to Emily's, "so I would agree that, if at all possible, it would be in everyone's best interest to find this UNSUB before he decides to visit anyone else. But Prentiss," he added on a softer tone, "no matter what happens, we can't stay here passed tomorrow. I want to help these people too but I just can't justify the monetary expense or the focus of our combined expertise for what, on paper, appears to simply be a series of animal mutilations. There is no proof yet that it's anything more than that. Not only would Strauss have my head for wasting Bureau time and money, but if something urgent broke halfway across the country our absence would slow down the Unit response time," he shook his head, "and I'm not allowing that to happen. So tomorrow afternoon we're handing everything back to the sheriff, we're getting on an airplane, and we're going home, understood?"

Though their morning interviews had uncovered a number of alarming facts that hadn't been in the police reports . . . among them the coordinated baskets and bows . . . that alone wouldn't have been enough for Hotch to extend their investigation an additional ten hours. No, the only reason they were staying through the afternoon was because of his sense of personal and professional responsibility for Emily's well being.

After all, if he was going to force her to connect with these psychologically damaged children, then the very least he could do in return was to make every damn effort to get her a little peace before they left town.

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Yeah," she swallowed over the lump in her throat, "understood."

This right here was why she would walk through fire for this man. Even though everything he had just said was him reiterating that this still a local situation, and not yet a BAU matter, he was still letting them stay just a little longer.

And in gratitude for that . . . for continuing to care long past the point where most people would have burned out completely . . . Emily leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. When she pulled back the surprise on his face was evident . . . as was the slight blush climbing his pale skin . . . but she said nothing as she reached over to brush away the faint smudge of lipstick before she snapped back her belt and turned to climb out of the car.

As he watched Emily step into the street, Hotch's hand came up to touch the spot where she'd kissed him. A faint smile passed over his lips as his hand fell back to his side.

'If he lived to be a hundred that woman would never cease to surprise him.'

/*/*/*/*/*/

Lorelai slipped her wallet back into her purse as she stepped out of Doose's Market.

Though Luke had told her repeatedly that he'd prefer that she not frequent Taylor's establishment (what he actually said was "no way no how did he want her lining that fascist's coffers with any of our hard earned money") unfortunately that fascist's establishment was pretty much the only game in town.

Of course she would have been happy to appease her husband and travel two towns over to the closest Stop & Shop, but that would have been a solid forty minute errand. So what's a girl to do when she has a Chips Ahoy emergency?

Exactly.

And these cookies really were an emergency pick up. Her mother had decided to book the inn function room for her Daughters of the American Revolution party planning committee that afternoon. They were going to be there for THREE God forsaken hours! So to keep her sanity, Lorelai was downing either a sleeve of Chips Ahoy or a half a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Maybe both. For now though she was starting with the cookies.

However, she had zero desire to get a lecture from Luke on either the evils of processed sugar or Taylor Doose (or both) so Lorelai paused for a moment on the sidewalk so she could jam her yummy blue package into the bottom of her super, colossus, giant oversized purse.

Said super, colossus, giant oversized purse sadly did not actually match her outfit today . . . there was a check/stripe clash thing happening that her mother was guaranteed to comment on . . . but under the circumstances Lorelai was okay with the fashion faux pas.

Her black and white checked mock leather beach bag was simply chosen as a means to transport her cookie contraband safely in and out of both her husband's diner, and her best friend's kitchen.

Though Luke's concerns were for her overall health (and the oft hoped for financial ruination of the Town Selectman) Sookie would shoot her dead on principle simply for bringing a store bought cookie on the premises. So before she took another step, Lorelai made quite sure that the pretty blue package was hidden well beneath all of the rest of crap she was carrying in her bag today.

God forbid she start digging for her lipstick and one of them see what was in there.

Once she was sure that both her marriage and her friendship would survive the afternoon, Lorelai started walking again. But she'd only taken two more steps before catching sight of Emily and Agent Hotchner parked on the corner.

An unexpected treat.

From the angle she was looking, Lorelai thought Agent Hotchner could see her as well as she could see him, so she started to raise her hand to wave hello when she saw Emily lean forward and kiss him.

Oh crap.

Lorelai's arm dropped back down to her side as her eyes snapped passed the car, and over to the gazebo on the square. She was trying not to look like she'd been staring at the couple so now she was pretending like she was watching the picnickers lounging around the carpet of bright green grass.

Whether or not those two were romantically involved . . . it was a cheek kiss so Lorelai really couldn't get a frigging clue there . . . but regardless that was a very personal moment and she didn't want to look all creepy and gross like she was spying on them while they were doing whatever they were doing.

So after she'd paused long enough that her pretend enjoyment of the bucolic spring picnic scene seemed legit, Lorelai turned and started walking towards the diner again.

She'd barely taken another two steps before Emily's door opened and then Agent Hotchner's a second later.

GAH! Lorelai started to panic in her head . . . WHAT TO DO! WHAT TO DO!

The pressure of societal niceties! Should she say hi? Or should she just pretend like she didn't see them at all so they wouldn't immediately figure out how horribly awkward a liar she was when she pretended like she was just noticing them for the first time?

The question was decided for her when she heard Agent Hotchner call out, "good afternoon Lorelai," and she plastered on a quick "surprised" smile as she turned to face the dark haired federales.

"Oh! Hey guys! Fancy meeting you here," she tipped her head up towards the diner, "stopping in for lunch?"

That would be the logical inference given that Lorelai doubted . . . and dear God sincerely hoped . . . that whatever the hell horror show they were looking at last night had absolutely nothing to do with Stars Hollow.

"Ah," Hotch shot Emily a quick look as he stepped up onto the curb next to her, "yes, yes we are." Seeing that Emily was wearing the faint tight smile more commonly found on her face right before they gave a death notification, Hotch realized that regardless of whatever had just happened in the car, she still wasn't back to her normal self again. And that meant that he needed to take point on the conversation. So his eyebrow rose slightly in curiosity as he looked back at Lorelai.

"Is that where you're going as well?" He asked hopefully.

Maybe he could get the other woman to eat with them. It was clear that he needed to get Emily's mind off this case for a little while, and given his generally dour disposition Hotch sincerely doubted that by himself he was up to a full forty-five to sixty minutes of small talk to keep her distracted from the more horrific details of the case.

And he was quite sure that those horrific details were what were rolling around Emily's head right now.

"Yeah actually," Lorelai's fingers drifted over to pat her cookie stuffed bag, "just stopping in for a coffee to rejuvenate before the afternoon," she rolled her eyes, "I'm spending the next three hours after that with my mother and her DAR party planners," she tipped her head, "Daughters of the American Revolution for those of you not from the Planet Emily."

Seeing the strange looks she got from the FBI agents in front of her, Lorelai realized what she'd said and quickly shook her head, "oh no, not YOU Agent Emily, the woman who gave birth to me Emily. My mother's kind of, well, uh," realizing she was about to start rambling on a topic she was quite sure these nice people didn't have any interest in hearing about, she rolled her eyes dismissively, "anyway doesn't matter. Come on," she tipped her head towards the diner, "I'll walk with you."

She took two steps before she shot a grin over her shoulder at the two of them.

"I might be able to rustle up another bag of donuts too."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he subtly nudged Emily up the sidewalk.

"That would be very nice, thank you. But today we're definitely paying for them."

Lorelai opened her mouth to protest . . . saw the look Agent Hotchner gave her . . . and closed her mouth again. So with a shrug she walked up to the diner.

"If you insist," she held the door for Emily, "but please know it's not necessary," she stepped over the threshold, calling back to Agent Hotchner, "we don't have a local police department so your presence might be the only opportunity we this year to pass out donuts and coffee to the law enforcement descendants of the greatest transvestite that ever lived."

Seeing Emily's mouth twitch slightly at the joke about J. Edgar Hoover, Hotch felt a burst of affection for the local innkeeper. In fact he nearly spun the woman around to smack a sloppy thank you kiss on her. But figuring that her husband . . . who was standing seven feet away . . . probably wouldn't appreciate that, Hotch kept his lips to himself.

Though as Lorelai stepped away to go help Luke clear them a table . . . they were both yelling at some guy named Kirk to get the hell out . . . Hotch did catch Emily's arm, pulling her close to his chest for a second as he pressed his lips to her ear.

"If you'll try and let Lorelai help you find your smile then I promise that I'll buy you your own bag of donuts."

All he wanted was for Emily to try to let Lorelai take her mind off the case for a little while. Given her lack of appetite though, Hotch wasn't sure if the bribe would work. But then to his relief he saw that when she tipped her head back to look up at him, there was a faint bit of amusement in her eyes before she whispered back, "I'll try."

So Hotch rewarded her efforts with a dimple and a sad smile of his own.

"Thank you," he murmured, and then he patted her back as he saw Luke waving them over to the now empty table by the window.

"Now let's go sit down."

A/N 2: I warned you the details were ugly! But really, if they hadn't been ugly they wouldn't have even caught their attention to begin with. It is strange writing such ugly details around such a whimsical little town. I see it kind of like a bright light and the woods around them are darker and more sinister. And they were always hazy on the details of Stars Hollows location, but it was clear in the credit shots it was buried in a more woodsy part of Connecticut.

And yes, unless they start finding human bodies, they really do need to go home tomorrow. But Hotch isn't heartless, if they've already paid for the extra night, it's not going to hurt to stay a few hours longer. Especially if they are now starting to pull together a profile. And this is kind of the twist of Emily usually trying to distract Hotch whereas here he's the one trying to not let her dragged down in the darker elements of what they're dealing with.

Given the case is taking shape, I'd really like to possibly wrap this over the next month (Halloween and all) so I'm going to make an effort to try to do that. Which reminds me, Halloween prompts will be going up next weekend. Last year we put them up early so people would have time to write something if they wanted to. And they previous prompts are still up for grabs so if you're looking to write something "seasonal" the old ones are Bonus #5 on the TV Prompt Forum.

Next post will most likely be in The Hours, perhaps later tonight, more likely later tomorrow. Allergies are acting up again and I've not been able to write much the last few days. But Fracture has most of a draft done and I'm hoping to get that up before next weekend.

Thanks for all the feedback this week :)