Aaron & Emily, Meet Luke & Lorelai

by sienna27

Universe F: Crossover w/Gilmore Girls - Case Fic: Hotch and Emily are staying at the Dragonfly while investigating a series of mutilations out of town. NOTE: Rating is for "Adult Content" in later chapters.

12. A Spark To Pierce The Dark

Author's Note: And finally, we're done! Another story wrapped. Yay!

It's also another super long chapter, and I do hate to give away plot points, but I also hate for folks to be caught 'unawares' if something was TOTALLY unexpected. Because as a reader who has more than once said 'whoa WTF?!' at something somebody wrote, I know how annoying and/or upsetting, that can be. So just be advised, again there are some paragraphs here that, depending on your personal preferences, some of you might wish to skim rather than read in detail. You'll certainly know them when you get to them :) And beyond that all I'll say is I hope generally everybody's happy with the wrap up.

Also, FYI, I changed the story rating to M for (what I consider) "Adult Content." Partly for the stuff covered in the earlier, serial killer house, chapter, and partly for what's in here. I think by comparison to my other M stories, this one is on the milder end, but still, I like people to have a fighting chance :) And if I think I've now molded a world that might make some people uncomfortable, and looking back on it now as a whole, I think that's potentially the case here, then they should know what they're getting into before they get into it. As you all do now!

As always thanks for all the reviews and PMs all along. Oh, and side note, the CM Profiler awards close this week. So if you're reading The Hours (which I promise to update this millennium), and you like it, or just like me :) I'm up for a couple of nominations. And I'd be very appreciative of your support :)

So, to the story! Picking up directly from the last scene.

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A Spark. To Pierce The Dark.

Emily waited until Hotch had left the room, and the door had clicked shut, before she too stood up. Then she quickly moved over to dig into the pile of crap she'd dumped out onto the carpet.

Now she just had to find some clean underwear.

Ah, yes, she thought as she dug out a pair of grey bikinis, and underneath that . . . she snagged another piece of fabric on her finger . . . a pair of black ones.

Two pairs left.

A pair for tonight, and then clean ones for tomorrow too. Good. And most likely, if Hotch hadn't come over, she would have just slept in her underwear alone. But he was right, obviously him giving her a massage of ANY kind while she was wearing nothing but a towel, was just not a BAD idea.

And besides . . . she started to step into the grey bikinis . . . having a t-shirt would be warmer for bed.

Emily had just finished slipping her underwear on, when Hotch gave a perfunctory knock and stepped back through the door. She was tightening her towel again as he turned the deadbolt.

"Here," he said a moment later with his eyes up on her face and his hand out, "totally clean." Then he added while handing the shirt over.

"And I looked for some pajama pants, but my bag's a little light too."

Though he did have an extra pair of boxers that he could have given her, Hotch had picked them up, and then put them back down again. It just seemed too intimate an item to gift.

The shirt would be long enough to cover.

"Thanks," Emily shook out the shirt with a faint crinkling of her eyes, "just turn your head for a second."

When Hotch did as she asked . . . actually turning around completely . . . Emily slipped the black HRT T-shirt over her head. And once she was sure that it was at least as long as the towel she was wearing . . . actually an inch longer . . . she undid the flap, and let the yellow terrycloth fall to the floor.

It fell to the ground with a little 'woomph' of displaced air.

"Please tell me that you're not completely naked." Hotch murmured in a low tone.

A tone deep enough to cause a little flutter in Emily's stomach.

"No," she responded quietly, "the t-shirt was on before the towel was off." Then she tugged down on the jersey material, "it's safe to look."

Hotch turned back to see Emily swimming in his old Hostage Rescue T-shirt. And his emotional reaction to that image was completely different than that of when he'd first seen her in the towel. The fabric landed a little further down her thighs, and there was no longer any visible cleavage to sexualize the moment. So with the oversized shirt hanging off of her, and Emily's pretty face scrubbed clean of her usual makeup, she just looked heart achingly young.

Probably the face of the girl who had joined the Bureau so many years ago.

Hotch realized then, as he looked at this woman who brought out so many conflicted feelings in him, that this was also the first time in twenty years that he'd let any woman besides his wife, wear an article of his clothing. And that was a surprisingly bittersweet realization for him.

Because Haley used to wear his t-shirts too. But never this one.

Never his FBI ones.

And then maybe a year or so ago, she stopped stealing all of his T-shirts. Stopped smelling his dress shirts when she picked them up off the bed. Stopped teasing him about the old ones getting ratty cuffs, or the faint crease he secretly liked to press in his jeans. She'd stopped caring about his clothes completely.

She'd wanted nothing to do with them.

And if his brain had been even half as focused on his marriage as it should have been, then he would have seen those signs for what they were.

The beginning of the end.

Trying to shake off his encroaching, almost omnipresent, melancholy about his old life . . . it was always worse in the evenings, and always worse still after a bad case . . . Hotch took a breath and moved over to sit back down on the edge of the mattress. Then he winced slightly at the pressure of his gun pressing into his stomach.

He slipped it out and placed it on the bed.

Then he watched as Emily continuing with her half-hearted attempt to pick up the little mess on the floor. She'd just finished hurriedly repacking her ready bag, and now had moved over to pick up her dirty clothes, placing them into a neat pile by the bathroom door. With her wearing his T-shirt, and both of them technically ready for bed, the whole scene felt very domestic.

It made his chest hurt.

Then she finished her clean up by snagging the two yellow towels from the floor, and bringing them back into the bathroom. When she reemerged a moment later, there was a slightly sheepish smile on her face.

"Sorry to make you wait," she said while walking back over, "I hadn't cared about the mess earlier. But then I started to get kind of embarrassed because I didn't think anybody else would see it. And then you did see it, and I felt like a total slob so I needed to straighten up a little before I just sat there on the floor staring at it."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly . . . that was such an Emily thing to worry about. And it helped to break up the melancholy of his earlier thoughts about getting ready for bed with her. Because this was not a domestic scene from his old life. This woman was not his wife.

She was someone else.

"It's okay," he responded with a faint smile, "I don't mind waiting. But so you know, it really wasn't bothering me."

Emily's lip quirked up as she stopped in front of him.

"Thanks, but we both know that I looked like a giant slob."

And then she moved to get down on the floor, right by his feet. With the way the t-shirt rode up when she sat down, her bare legs were just as exposed then as when she was in the towel earlier.

And they seemed to go on forever.

Crap.

Hotch's faint amusement at her neurotic tidiness was pushed away. Now the other, unwelcome, emotions had returned again.

Attraction and desire.

And then there was also simple 'awareness.' He was very aware of her as a woman. And he spent pretty much every moment of his life purposely NOT being aware of her as a woman. All of that was now undone by a pair of fabulously long, smooth and trim, as Dave would call them, 'gams.'

Dave . . . Hotch's eyes rolled at the thought of his old friend . . . yeah, Dave Rossi would probably give his left nut to trade places with him right about then.

All right, Aaron . . . Hotch scowled slightly to himself . . . thinking about what Dave would be doing in the same situation, is NOT going to help. It's just going to make it worse. You're NOT Dave, and you're not going to take advantage of the situation the way that HE would. Just because there's an attractive female in the vicinity, that's no reason to lose higher brain function.

Just fucking DEAL with it!

Right . . . Hotch's teeth ground together while his gaze shifted up to the painting on the wall opposite them . . . deal with it.

Emily shimmied herself another inch backwards between Hotch's knees. She was trying to be careful not to move inappropriately close to his 'genital area' but still get close enough to allow him easy access to her shoulders and neck without him actually falling off the bed.

It took a bit of lining up.

But once she'd reached what she felt was the sweet spot between those two points . . . and embarrassingly readjusted her t-shirt from where it had ridden up to expose an obscene amount of bare thigh . . . she tipped her head forward. A moment later she heard a soft sigh, and then Hotch was brushing her hair off her shoulders, and then his strong fingers were pressing down into her sore flesh.

She closed her eyes.

He'd barely done anything, and it already felt a bit better.

And she let him just work a basic shoulder massage for a minute, simply enjoying the slow release of endorphins. But then she realized that he was sticking with just her shoulders, and her real problem spot was a little further south.

So she patted his calf.

"Can you please move your left hand a little? Feel that knot like an inch down?"

Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly as he kept his grip firm and slid his hand along Emily's back, applying equal pressure until he finally felt the hard muscle.

"This one?"

"Yeah," Emily simultaneously nodded and winced as Hotch's fingers pressed down, "that's it. Can you please make that not be there anymore?"

Hotch's lip quirked up faintly.

"I think so, just," he pushed down on her back, "just lean forward a little bit more."

Once Emily was at the right angle, Hotch began gently kneading the tight spot.

"Tell me if it hurts." He murmured.

Though he hadn't done this in some time . . . give a woman a massage . . . he did recall once being quite good at it. So he was pretty sure that he could get the knot out with minimal effort.

And hopefully minimal time.

Because though Hotch had decided (for his mental well-being, and their working relationship) to think of Emily's jersey outfit as simply a 'dress' . . . it was a hell of a lot better than thinking of her wearing his t-shirt while he ran his hands over her body . . . this whole endeavor still had the potential to blow up in his face. Because that 'dress' was three inches too short. And her hair was soft and silky when it brushed against his fingers. And her skin smelled like everything that he had lost.

And everything that he wanted back.

Every day, Hotch lived his life with a razor sharp line in the sand. It separated him from that other world. Him from Emily, who existed only in that other world. And that line was never supposed to be crossed. All of these months he tried so hard to be careful.

To be distant.

But what was he supposed to do if she closed that distance? If she wandered over to his side of the desert, and then dropped down in to his lap? Yeah . . . his teeth sunk into his . . . and that there was the problem.

He had a forbidden girl in his lap and he didn't know what to do.

And then Emily moaned in pleasure.

The timbre was deep and throaty . . . and it sounded he'd hit a spot well below her shoulder blades.

Hotch froze, just his eyes fell shut. Then his hands came off her shoulders and up to his knees. His eyes popped open in time to see Emily's fingers dig into her thighs.

And then there was silence.

After a moment, a moment where Hotch could easily have died a thousand deaths, Emily awkwardly cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes on the carpet, "I didn't mean to do that. I, uh," she swallowed, "that is I, just uh . . . sorry." Then she turned to look up at him, her cheeks bright pink, her voice still soft and hesitant.

"Do you want to go back to your room now?"

GOD! What was WRONG with her?! She'd just made a perfectly innocuous little bonding situation, into something totally WEIRD and uncomfortable!

Socially awkward much, Em!?

Hotch's teeth ground together as his eyes locked onto Emily's. He knew absolutely that he needed to leave. He'd never been more sure of anything in his life. He needed to stand up and walk out that door.

But he didn't go.

Instead he swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"No," he shook his head slowly, "no, I don't want to go. We'll finish. And then I'll go downstairs and get us something to eat. Just like we planned, okay?"

That's when Emily's eyes began to water right in front of him.

"Okay," she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

And though she'd agreed with his words, she was clearly so sad as she voiced that agreement . . . like she too understood that she'd made an already awkward night, more difficult still . . . that Hotch couldn't just let it go. It was always impossible to let her suffer alone. So though he needed to maintain his distance, he found himself reaching out to cup her cheek.

Then he gave her a soft smile.

"No more crying," he murmured, "you'll make your eyes swell up." Then he winked and pulled his hand back, while motioning for her to turn her head around again.

Once she had . . . after a faint sniffle, and an even fainter crinkling of her eyes . . . he took a deep breath, and put his hands back down on her shoulders.

And though it was in the outer limits beyond his better judgment . . . pretty much EVERY interaction he'd had with this woman over the last hour had been in the far galaxy outside of his better judgment . . . Hotch started again rubbing her neck again.

From then on, though he knew that Emily was trying to stay quiet, there was the occasional sigh or sharp intake of breath. It was enough to throw his concentration, so while he needed to look down at her to see what he was doing, he tried to tune out the happy little sounds. Instead choosing to focus in on the sounds of the TV.

They were running something in the Arctic.

And when she occasionally dug her fingers into his calf, he let that go too. Because really that was generally more his clue that he had hit a sore spot again.

So he'd work his way through it, moving slowly along her shoulders and neck, and the base of her scalp. Then he went back over the whole area again, just for good measure. And just because he'd already thrown himself headlong into the task, so he'd be damned if he didn't at least do it right.

But it was the point where Hotch found his efforts had moved up to Emily's ears and temples and down along her jaw . . . and realized that was his hands were lingering because there was no barrier preventing him from touching her bare skin . . . that he knew it was passed time that he stopped.

He was about to embarrass himself.

So with a somewhat disgusted eye roll at his own lapse in control . . . just because he'd spent the last nine months completely celibate, that was NO excuse for his behavior . . . he dropped one hand back to the bed, while the other stilled on her shoulder. And he was just about to say, "all done," when there was a knock on the door.

They both jumped.

His fingers immediately dug back into her shoulder, just as hers dug into his leg. Then Emily . . . with her hand still curled around his calf . . . turned to look at him over her shoulder. Their eyes locked.

Who the hell was knocking after midnight?

"One second," Emily called out, still looking up at Hotch. He was reaching over to pick up his pistol from the mattress. And he was doing that because neither of them trusted the world outside the locked door.

They probably never would again.

Emily's gun was a little further up on the bed, but she made no move to reach for it. They had no actual reason to think there was a problem. And though it was her room, given that Hotch was the one wearing actual pants, it did make more sense that he be the one that answered the door.

Hotch picked up his Sig, and pushed himself up off the bed . . . stepping over Emily's head in the process.

Then with his service weapon behind his back . . . no reason to scare the shit out of anybody needlessly . . . he went over to check the peephole. He let out the breath he was holding.

Lorelai.

Feeling a bit of the tension leave his shoulders, he mouthed the same to Emily while tucking his gun into the back waistband of his pajama pants. Then . . . as Emily moved to get up from the floor . . . he undid the locks. And as Emily went to grab something to cover up with, he opened the door.

"Hello Lorelai," Hotch said with what he hoped passed for a faint . . . genuine . . . smile.

And then for the second night in a row, he blinked in surprise when he noticed the cart that the innkeeper had rolled up behind her. This time it was covered in food, not cocoa and coffee.

And Luke was standing in the hallway behind it.

He and the other man exchanged a silent nod, while Hotch directed his question to Lorelai.

"What is all this?" He asked in surprise.

Lorelai gave Agent Hotchner a soft smile.

"We were watching the eleven o'clock news, and believe it or not we actually saw you guys leaving on the live feed, so um," she made a general overarching gesticulation with her hands. "It being so late, we figured you'd probably be hungry by the time you got back."

It was all that she could think to do for them. Of course it was the absolute LEAST thing that they could do for them, but after watching that story . . . and for the first time TRULY understanding what these nice, seemingly normal, people did for a living . . . Lorelai had been compelled to do something for them.

Just something to say thank you.

Hotch's expression softened.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "that was very nice of you. Thank you." Then he shifted his gaze over to Luke who had his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Both of you," he added with another nod, "thank you very much."

Emily joined him at the door then . . . now wrapped up in the quilt that she'd pulled off the cedar chest.

It made Hotch's stomach flip a little to think that her outfit . . . a simple t-shirt . . . was one that she felt comfortable wearing in front of him, but that she made sure to cover up in front of other people.

Did that mean something?

"Wow," Emily shook her head in disbelief as she looked down at the tureen of soup, and the plates of sandwiches and vegetables and cookies all covered in plastic wrap, "this is just way too much guys. But thank you," she looked up, "that was really um," her voice started to thicken, "really, nice."

Seeing that Emily's emotions were about to get the better of her again . . . a kind act was often the unexpected break when you were on the edge of maintain your control . . . Hotch quickly cut in, while shifting incrementally closer to her side.

"It's been a long day," he added softly by way of explanation, all while his hand came up to squeeze Emily's shoulder. And he saw then that Lorelai's eyes had become shiny when she looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Yeah," she nodded, "we can imagine. There were some details on the news. All of the bodies, and the little boy, and that you guys had been attacked, and that one of you had to shoot a . . ."

And then Lorelai trailed off in embarrassment. She'd realized that her nervous rambling had not only been COMPLETELY tactless(!), but had also inadvertently revealed who had done the shooting.

Emily.

She'd seen it in the way that her friend's eyes had dropped to the carpet, and Agent Hotchner moved his hand over to the back of her neck. That's when Lorelai had stopped talking.

When she'd realized she'd just jammed her foot into her mouth.

And she felt terrible for upsetting Emily . . . and Agent Hotchner too. It was clear from the tightening of his jaw that he wasn't at all pleased with the turn of the conversation.

In the awkward pause that followed, Lorelai was trying desperately to think of a way to apologize for a gaffe that had never been covered in her mother's Emily Post good manners classes. And then she felt Luke's hand fell to her back, and she knew it was time to say something. So she cleared over the lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "sometimes I ramble when I get nervous. But I didn't mean to be impolitic, or nosy. Really," she shook her head earnestly as both agents looked back up at her, "not at all. We just don't have things like this happen around here. Nothing ever happens around here. Nothing bad, anyway. And, well," her voice started to thicken, "when I heard what happened I was really worried about you guys. And um," her voice cracked, "I'm just really glad that you're both okay."

That truly had been her first thought when the story started spreading around the diner that night. 'God, please let them be all right.' Because all anybody knew . . . by word of mouth . . . was that something terrible had happened the next town over. That bodies had been found, and that the two FBI agents had been attacked, and that ambulances had been seen coming and going. For hours that's all they knew.

It was just awful.

Honestly, if Lorelai had had their cell phones, she would definitely have called Emily and Agent Hotchner to make sure that they were okay. And she was so upset waiting for news . . . and Luke was actually genuinely concerned as well . . . that they ended up closing the diner early to go home and watch TV.

Mostly though, the local station kept replaying the sheriff's press conference, which hadn't really done much for Lorelai's nerves. To find out that there were actually SERIAL KILLERS living just a few miles away, it was incomprehensible. It burst their little bubble of perceived safety in this silly little town. And to make it worse, there was little mention specifically of the FBI. Just that they been ambushed . . . and injured . . . when they'd arrived at the property, and that shots had been exchanged and one of the attackers was now in surgery.

Nothing about the agents conditions.

So when Lorelai had actually SEEN her two new friends driving out . . . the television camera had zoomed right in on their windshield and Emily had put her hand up to cover her eyes . . . that's when she'd started crying.

She'd just been so relieved to see they were okay.

But now with her stupid, tactless, flub, they probably just thought that she was there out of morbid curiosity. Like some hick.

Basically she looked like a complete jerk.

Emily's fingers fumbled with the edges of the quilt. Though she was feeling another wave of stress and anxiety thinking about what had happened in the woods, she also knew, intellectually, that Lorelai had meant no harm. She'd just inadvertently stumbled into a nasty briar patch.

It was called her life.

So with Hotch's fingers gently massaging her neck . . . she wasn't sure how she was going to go back to a world where he pushed her away . . . Emily took a breath.

"It's okay," she whispered, her eyes locking onto Lorelai's, "I know that you didn't mean anything. It is what it is," she bit her lip, "I did shoot that man, because he was trying to kill Hotch."

Her gaze shifted over to see Hotch looking down worriedly.

"That cut on his cheek," she continued softly while staring up at him, "he got that when the bullet slammed into the tree in front of him. The next shot would have taken off his head."

"So," she cleared her throat as her eyes snapped back to Lorelai's, "that's that."

Feeling Hotch's hand slide down from her neck, to land on the small of her back, Emily shifted incrementally closer to his side.

Given that these people in front of them were probably making their own inferences about their relationship . . . after all it was after midnight and they were both in her room, dressed for bed . . . Emily didn't think a half an inch in either direction was going to make much difference to their presumptions.

Lorelai blinked away the tears stinging her eyes.

"I don't understand how you guys do this work," she said with a sniff and a shake of her head. "I'm a complete wuss. Hell, I get a knot in my stomach just thinking about having lunch with my mother."

Emily huffed faintly.

"I get a knot in my stomach thinking about lunch with my mother too."

And with that unexpected moment of bonding, the remaining tension was drained from the moment. Emily took a step forward and opened her arms. Lorelai smiled.

"Thank you for caring," Emily whispered as the two embraced.

"Thank you for catching the bad guys," Lorelai murmured back with a tight squeeze.

Emily leaned back with a faint crinkling of her eyes.

"It's a team effort."

Then she stepped back, catching Hotch's fingers as she moved over besides him.

This was her team. Even if on this case they were two instead of six, none of them could do this work alone.

They'd never survive.

Lorelai couldn't help but notice the unexpected hand holding between two people who had claimed just that afternoon to have a completely professional relationship. And looking down at those intertwined fingers, was when Lorelai suddenly took in the bare legs of her new friend.

It wasn't really an outfit most women would wear around somebody who was 'just' her boss.

And though the quilt Emily was wrapped in had mostly covered her top half, when she'd moved to hug her, Lorelai had seen the dark, oversized t-shirt hanging down underneath. It was still visible now. It had the logo of an eagle, and if Lorelai's Latin wasn't completely gone . . . and Rory had made her brush up from time to time . . . the motto beneath it translated as, 'to save lives.'

'It must be an FBI unit,' she realized abstractly. It made sense.

But then . . . as she stepped aside to allow Luke to move the food cart into the room . . . Lorelai noticed the dimensions of the shirt, and the dimensions of the body wearing it. It was much too big. Her eyes widened slightly.

'It was Agent Hotchner's shirt.'

Though she had no proof of course . . . and she sure as hell wasn't going to jam her foot back into her mouth by asking such a question . . . in that moment, Lorelai would have bet the inn that the shirt belonged to him.

And that wasn't just a random guess based on their physical proximity or Emily's overall outfit. There was just something about their body language. The way he was so openly fussing over her, and not caring that they could see him holding her hand, it was clear that there had been some kind of emotional shift since the last time that she'd seen them together. Not that that was any of her business. But she was still pleased to see it.

They made a handsome couple.

And then Luke interrupted Lorelai's musings with a loud, "well, we should be going," as he did a final check of the items that they'd put on the food cart. She snapped back to attention.

"Thank you again Luke," Hotch said with a tip of his head. But Luke just dismissed his gratitude with a faint scowl.

"No problem, man, seriously, like Lorelai said," he reached over and put his arm around his wife's shoulders, "we're just glad you're okay."

And with that . . . and Lorelai's promise to hold their rooms for another day . . . their midnight visitors headed back out into the corridor. And after a final "good night" exchange and wave between Lorelai and Emily, Hotch let go of Emily's hand to go over and push the door shut.

As he turned the deadbolt, Emily murmured from behind him.

"That was really nice of them to bring us all this food."

"It was," he nodded slowly while turning back around, "it was very nice."

Emily's gaze shifted up to meet his . . . and she burst into tears. But then just as quickly, she was turning away and furiously wiping her hands across her face.

"I'm sorry."

The words came out as a muffled sob. Hotch's gut twisted in sympathy as he instinctively reached for her. When he caught her around the waist, he tucked her back against his chest before she could pull away.

"Oh Emily," he murmured against her hair. "It's okay. You don't have to be sorry."

Emily winced and sniffled, tears still running down her face. And though she wanted to run to the bathroom and cry her embarrassing tears, alone. Instead she slumped back, letting Hotch hold her.

His arms were strong and possessive where they wrapped around her body, and she knew those sensations, and the warmth and comfort they engendered, were ones that she could so easily get used to. But she also knew that those were things that she couldn't allow herself to get used to.

This night was an aberration.

God only knew what Hotch she'd be dealing with tomorrow.

So she was just going to enjoy having him this way for as long as he stayed. Like waiting for the carriage to turn back into a pumpkin, her evening prince would turn back into, well, just a regular super hero.

No matter how you cut it . . . she bit her lip . . . Hotch was not an ordinary man.

And after a couple of minutes of him holding her close, and soothing in her ear, she was able to lock the tears down again. These ones had been released by the kind act, and genuine concern, of relative strangers. The reminder after a horrific day, that there really was good in the world. And that you could make a bond with your new friend, at the most unexpected moment. And that was why she did this work.

For people like them.

But finally Emily felt her control return. The ball of tension in her chest had unwound. That's when she sniffled and caught the hand pressed so protectively against her stomach. She squeezed it tight.

"You know you called me Emily," she whispered. "You never call me Emily."

Hotch closed his eyes.

Damn . . . she'd caught that. And though it would have been easy enough to brush it off, to just say that "Prentiss" was the habit, and habits were hard to break, he decided not to do that. Because he had decided to make some changes. And to say that habit was the reason, would have been a lie. And he wasn't going to lie to her anymore.

Not if he could help it.

"I know," his voice was tight, "it's easier to call you Prentiss."

Emily turned around in his arms then, her brow creased in confusion.

"Easier?" She asked, her hand coming up to wipe the remaining tears from her face, "what does that mean?"

He looked down, his mouth curving in a sad smile.

"It means it's easier for me to keep my distance."

It was another truth he never shared. And seeing Emily's eyes widen in surprise at that revelation, Hotch impulsively leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. But then he felt embarrassed about expressing that burst of affection for her so overtly . . . like he actually had the right to.

Which he did not.

And feeling his face start to get a little flush, he abruptly let Emily go. Then he hurriedly stepped around her, and over to the food cart a few feet away.

"We should eat before it gets cold."

To his own ears, his voice sounded a bit off, but if Emily noticed, she was kind enough not to comment on it. Actually, if anything . . . by the soft touch of her fingers on his back . . . it seemed like she was trying to brush over that awkward pause he'd just created.

"Right," she patted his back, "let's eat."

So they did. With her sitting on the bed, and him on the end chair, they settled in with their small silver serving trays. Emily had found them tucked in on the second shelf of the cart, down with the silverware and napkins.

For their very late dinner, they each had a couple of carrot sticks, a half a grilled cheese sandwich and a small cup of tomato soup. That was all washed down with little cartons of one percent milk that had been stacked on the third shelf of the cart, along with mini-bottles of water and cranberry juice.

It was a full assortment of beverages.

And after they had finished up what would constitute a 'proper' meal, they moved on to dessert. Emily choosing a blonde brownie, and Hotch a chocolate chip cookie. Though he wasn't generally that fond of sweets, there was just something about comfort food . . . especially when it was homemade, and especially after a day like theirs . . . that just made a cookie seem like the thing to do.

Also, it would have been ungrateful to not at least take one.

When they were done eating, Hotch stared down at the still half full plates on the cart. By his estimation, they had enough food left to last them until they went home, but it seemed like it was going to go to waste. But then Emily pointed out the little refrigerator that came with the room. It wasn't really a traditional mini-bar . . . it was free and it was just stocked with water . . . but it would be perfect for their leftovers.

With the plastic wrap already provided, they could take them for lunch the next day.

So Hotch got up and rolled the cart over. Then he stacked the plates of grilled cheese, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on top of one another in the little fridge. The vegetable plate went on the bottom shelf along with the remaining cartons of milk and juice. The desserts he left out on the nightstand, along with a bottle of water.

Emily might want a cookie later.

After he had finished cleaning up, Hotch looked down at Emily sitting cross-legged on the bed.

She was staring at him.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I guess I should get going."

Though he didn't want to go back to his own room yet . . . he saw at least an hour or two of staring at the ceiling ahead of him . . . it was quarter to one, and he really couldn't think of any 'legitimate' reason for him to stay in her room any longer.

It was time to go home.

Emily's eyes widened in surprise.

"But," her gaze snapped over to the clock and then back up to Hotch's face. "It's not that late. You could stay, and we could watch TV for a bit."

Seeing Hotch's jaw twitching, Emily knew that he was on the fence. So she decided to do something that she knew would push him over to her side.

She stood up.

He was so close to the bed, that she was right in his space. She tipped her head back to look up at him.

"Please." She whispered while pressing her hand against his chest, "my brain's too wound up to sleep, and I just don't want to be by myself right now. I don't want to start thinking."

What she said was the truth, but there was more to it than that. Truly, she simply didn't want him to go. Because she was becoming very attached to this more open and affectionate side of Hotch, and she thought if she could just keep him with her, then maybe she could keep him from cutting himself off again.

It was worth a try anyway.

Hotch swallowed, and then nodded slowly.

"Okay," he answered, his gaze shifting over Emily's shoulder, "I'll stay for a little while."

Again, he knew that he needed to leave. And again, he was going to stay.

Such a stupid man.

But then he felt Emily lean up to wrap her arms around his neck, her breasts pressing into him as she tugged him down. And suddenly he didn't feel so stupid.

Conflicted . . . his arms slipped around her slim back . . . yes. But stupid, no.

Emily murmured her thanks in Hotch's ear, and then she leaned back, her hands sliding to his shoulders as she gave him a little smile.

"I'm just going to run to the bathroom. You find something for us to watch."

Then she let go of him, and Hotch knew that he needed to let go of her too. So he did. And if his fingers brushed against her hips as she moved back, that was just an accident.

Nothing more.

Then he watched as she crossed around the bed and headed over and into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut.

For a moment Hotch stared at that closed door, biting his lip, thinking thoughts that he shouldn't be thinking. Then he shook his head . . . trying to banish those thoughts back down to the sewer . . . and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed.

His gaze slowly shifted around the room, taking in the little feminine touches . . . the hand cream on the nightstand, the lipstick tube on the dresser.

The black bra strap hanging out the zippered pocket of Emily's ready bag.

And though Hotch knew that he couldn't make a habit of hanging out in Emily's hotel rooms after hours, he couldn't deny that on a base level, it was so nice just to be back in a woman's space again.

Even if it was a temporary space, her room gave off a warmth that was missing from his life.

And he had spent his nights alone for so many months . . . almost a full year now . . . that he missed, not just the obvious, the sex, but simply having that warmth, that human interaction, at the end of his days. Because perhaps if he had someone in his life again, someone to talk to . . . he picked up the remote . . . and make him feel grounded, and accepted, he might not be drowning himself in his work.

He might not be drowning period.

It was an entirely valid point to consider, but not one that he really knew what to do about at that point in time. This evening with Emily was just that, an evening.

Not a full time thing.

Again, he could not hang around in her hotel rooms when they were on the road, let alone have 'sleepovers' . . . even platonic ones . . . at her home. And he absolutely abhorred the concept of dating strange women, let alone the idea of actually going out ON a date. So he wasn't quite sure how he was going to meet anyone, let alone someone that he'd want as 'bedtime company,' at any point in the near future.

And with that somewhat depressing thought now weighing on his mind . . . how exactly he was going to move on with his life . . . Hotch bit down a sigh. Then he got up to go turn off the room's overhead light, pausing to click on one of the bedside lamps before he stopped and looked back down at the mattress.

For a moment he stood there stiffly, unsure of where he was supposed to sit while they "watched TV," and more importantly while he considered what exactly the hell they were really doing.

And then the bathroom door opened and Emily came back out again.

She didn't even blink at the light being out. Instead she just walked over and picked up her gun from the bed. After she'd placed it on the nightstand, she put her hand out.

"Yours too."

Without a word, he obeyed her instruction, slipping his gun out from his waistband and placing the grip into her hand.

His gun went down next to hers on the little table. Then she pulled back the blankets, and climbed into bed.

When she saw him still looking down at her . . . now feeling more awkward by the second . . . she patted the mattress.

"Come on," she smiled, "I won't bite."

His brow creased.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" He asked slowly. "You want me to stay?"

Given that he had ZERO confidence in basically every decision that he had made concerning his interactions with Emily that night, he just wanted to make sure that at least SHE knew what the hell they were doing.

It would make him feel a little better.

"Yes," Emily nodded firmly, "I want you to stay here with me. I want you to lie down and watch TV. And if we talk or don't, that's okay. I just want you to stay."

Then something seemed to occur to her, and Hotch saw her brow furrow.

"Is that what you want?" She asked worriedly, "Or am I making you feel uncomfortable?"

He quickly shook his head.

"No, you're not making me feel uncomfortable." He bit back a sigh as he moved to get into bed, "I'm doing that all on my own."

Seeing the sympathetic smile Emily gave him in response to his admission, didn't help Hotch's comfort level at all. It was more, 'woman being sweet and supportive.'

More of what he missed.

So after he'd put his phone and keycard on the night table, he climbed under the covers, making a clear point of sticking entirely to his own side of the bed. After that he fluffed up the pillows and picked up the remote again, flipping along the channels until he found a special on elephant families. He stopped there.

Then he looked over to see Emily give him a nod, so he put the volume up a couple of notches and dropped the remote down on the bed between them.

To his relief, Emily made no move to get any closer to him. That was his worry, that she'd move over to snuggle, and then things would get completely out of hand.

Or more specifically, out of his control.

But fortunately she just fixed her own pillows, and pulled the blankets up to her chest. And once he saw her eyes were fixed on the flat screen, the tension left his shoulders.

Okay . . . he took in a breath . . . he could do this. Just one documentary, and he should be tired enough to go back to his own room, and hopefully sleep for the rest of the night.

That was the plan.

*/*/*/*/*

Emily woke up with a start. Her heart was pounding, and her breath was ragged, and she was absolutely terrified.

But she was also slumped back against something solid, and unyielding. It took a moment of blinking to clear her head before she realized what it was.

Hotch.

His arm was wrapped around her waist, his head was lolling on her shoulder, and his breath was warm on her neck.

And suddenly her terror was gone.

She just felt . . . her eyes started to burn . . . happy. Happy after she'd just woken up so very scared. And though they'd had a terrible day . . . and she'd just had a terrible nightmare to go along with that day . . . Emily still knew that she wasn't supposed to be happy with him. Not this way. She wasn't supposed to let Hotch . . . her boss and her something undefined . . . make her feel like this. Warm, and content.

The tears started to pool.

And safe.

Funny, she never really gave that last one much thought. She was single, she lived alone . . . she usually slept alone . . . and her fear of BEING alone while she slept, had never been very high. At least not until the nightmares came.

And those always came in the wee hours.

But now . . . her eyes sought out the cable clock . . . she was in the wee hours. Well after three am. And she had indeed just been awoken by a nightmare, but it was like it hadn't happened. The images had faded. Her heart was beating normally again.

Hotch's presence had made everything okay.

So instead of slipping out of his embrace and back to her own side of the bed . . . the only wise course of action . . . instead she turned around in his arms to snuggle in closer.

Her nose was pressed into the hollow between his throat and his shoulder. And his arm was still curled around her back.

Though he was completely oblivious of all these things.

But when she moved to slip her own arm up and around Hotch's torso . . . the arm needed to go somewhere and that was as good a place as any . . . she felt him suddenly tense up.

He was awake.

Crap.

"Just stay," she mumbled against his throat while moving to tighten her grasp around his side, "please. It's already really late. And I'm warm and comfortable, and I'll be cold if you leave."

She didn't want to tell him about the nightmare. And what she said was close to the truth.

Sort of.

Hotch's jaw twitched as he stared wide eyed over Emily's shoulder and across the room. Though a moment before he had been sound asleep, now he was very much wide awake. And regardless of Emily's statements on the matter, he knew that he couldn't stay with her. It would be wrong. He didn't get to do things like this.

Be happy that is.

Because as he processed the feel of her pressed against his front, her warm body curved around his, he was very happy. And content. And then his eyes started to sting.

He didn't want to get up.

He wanted to stay.

But because his personal wants and needs had never really been relevant to the life choices that he had made . . . if they were then he'd still be married . . . Hotch blinked away those tears. And then he took a breath. And with that breath he pushed down all of the pain and loneliness and heartache that were rising up.

He began to slip out of Emily's grasp.

He was stopped by the whisper in his ear.

"Please Hotch. Please don't go," her voice caught, "I had a bad dream."

And again, he froze . . . though this time for an entirely different reason. For an entirely new ache in his stomach. It was guilt.

Guilt that even in her sleep, Emily too was now regularly chased by the demons of this job. And guilt that part of him still felt he should leave, even after she'd asked him to stay.

But he was just that fucked up.

His gaze shifted down to the woman curled around him. At some point when they were watching TV, Emily had asked him to turn out the light and open the curtains instead.

It was a full moon.

So now . . . even though there was just the moonlight to see by . . . it was clear that Emily's fingers were curled into his shirt.

Her knuckles were white.

He pushed himself back slightly. Not enough to pull away, just enough to see her face.

Her eyes were open . . . and they were shining.

"What was your dream about?" He whispered.

Emily closed her eyes for a moment.

"The little girl with the streak of white," her teeth sunk into her lip as her eyes slowly opened again.

They locked onto his.

"She was in the basement. Danielle had taken her. She used her basket of tricks on her."

Though the terror of the dream had initially left her, the thought of Hotch leaving was bringing that panic back again. It was only okay because he was there.

And now he was trying to go.

Hotch's jaw clenched, and then he nodded slowly.

"Okay," he murmured back, his gaze shifting over her shoulder, "okay." Then he took a breath, and with that breath he made a decision.

His head dropped back down to the pillow.

His eyes were on the wall again when he finally spoke.

"Do you want me to get you some water?"

His voice was soft . . . sad.

It was a question he used to ask his wife. Though with her he would have ended the question with "sweetheart."

He stopped himself from doing that with Emily.

Emily slowly shook her head, her cheek brushing against the pillow.

"No thank you," she whispered. "But can I um . . ." she cleared her throat, "may I move closer again?"

It was a strange moment. Not so much being there physically with Hotch. Their bond, and their history, there was much intimacy there, enough to remove any awkwardness from a situation like this.

It was more the moment in time that felt odd. Like she was teetering on the edge of something.

And that she was just about to fall.

Hotch's eyes snapped over to Emily's . . . and then his expression softened.

"Sure," he said as he lifted his arm, "of course you can move closer."

He'd already decided not to leave her . . . not after a dream like that. And given their past, and how they'd obviously been sleeping the last few hours, simply holding her again now while they slept was a fairly mild footnote on their personal history.

He would stay for her.

So as Emily shifted over to put her head back on his chest, Hotch dropped his arm back around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured while tucking her body back around his, "I know this is outside your comfort area."

Tears immediately sprang to Hotch's eyes . . . he was thinking back on all those nights curled up with his wife. And all of those nights since she'd been gone.

And how cold that bed was without her.

"Actually Prentiss," he sucked in a slow breath, "that's not quite true." Then he blinked the tears away, "but we're not going to talk about that, okay? Let's just try and go back to sleep."

"Right," Emily nodded as she moved her hand up to rest on Hotch's chest again, "sleep."

And she closed her eyes.

But she didn't fall right back to sleep. Even with Hotch right next her, the images . . . those terrible images . . . they had all come back in her panic. And now they were so bright and painful in her mind. She tried to stay still though, to not fidget.

She wanted Hotch to be able to go back to sleep, even if she couldn't quite yet.

And as she lay there, counting the seconds . . . and then the minutes . . . slowly her breathing began to even out. She still wasn't really falling asleep, it was just a physiological byproduct of the situation.

Her body resting.

But Hotch didn't know the difference. Because after a few more minutes where it must have appeared to him that she had fallen asleep, she felt his free hand come up to cover hers where it was resting on his chest.

He laced his fingers through hers.

And when his thumb began to stroke along her wrist as it had in the car, she had to push down the lump forming in her throat.

He was so much softer and so much gentler, and so much sweeter, than anyone else knew. And even as she was processing the tenderness with which he was stroking her hand, she heard him whisper in the dark.

"These last six months, you know you've been my weak spot. Even when everything in me says that I should say no to you, I don't. You breach my defenses, even when I know better. But I think that I let you do that because you make the effort," his voice caught, "and nobody else does. And I'm so tired of being alone Emily. And I don't know what to do about that . . . I just don't know how to be happy anymore."

For a moment . . . a moment when the tears began to flood Emily's eyes . . . she heard Hotch taking in slow, ragged breaths. And she knew that he was trying not to cry.

Even in the dark . . . even when he thought she was sleeping . . . he'd still see crying with her there as a weakness.

That realization made her want to weep for him.

But then he seemed to get his emotions under control. And he kissed the top of her head, and tucked her just a bit closer . . . and she felt just a bit safer. Not just for his presence . . . but mostly for what he'd said.

'Even when everything in me says that I should say no to you, I don't.'

The words both pleased her, and dug a chasm in her heart. Pleased to know that he held her in an esteem that he didn't the others. But it was also devastating to realize that he believed their connection . . . all of those little moments that they'd shared together . . . that was him failing. Being weak.

That he should have been strong and made other choices.

And she wanted to open her eyes and tell him what she thought about that, how terribly sad that made her feel. But she was afraid of embarrassing him. Clearly the words he had spoken, they weren't admissions that he would have EVER made if he had thought for a second that she could hear him.

So for a few moments she made herself remain still in his arms, listening to him breath, and knowing that he was just as wide awake as she was.

But then she thought about him going through life, really BELIEVING such a horrible thing. Picking a life like that. One where he would always be alone, because he didn't know how to share anymore. He saw sharing as something to regret. That's why he didn't how to be happy anymore.

He no longer knew how to bond.

Apparently Haley had hurt him just that badly, so badly that it terrified him to be close to anyone again. But he didn't want to be alone either.

The thought made her chest ache.

And that ache was finally enough for her to open her eyes. She knew that he was still awake . . . it was in his breathing . . . so she levered her hand on his chest, pushing him onto his back, as she pushed herself up to look down at him.

Their gazes caught in the blue glow from the television and the moonlight mixing together.

His eyes were wide with undisguised panic, and though a couple minutes had passed, she knew that he was wondering if she'd heard what he said. And she could have just said yes, that she heard everything, and then given him a piece of her mind.

But she didn't do that.

Instead she stared down at him for a moment, and when his mouth started to open . . . he was going to say something . . . she leaned forward, and she kissed him.

With his lips slightly open, she opened her own mouth to catch him just right. Just so he would know that she had made the move that she had, at the exact moment that she had . . . to make a point.

That the kiss wasn't intended to be innocent.

And after a second of shock on his part . . . he was kissing her back.

It was hard and insistent, but with her still at his side their angle was slightly awkward and they were a little bit sloppy. So without another thought . . . and barely a split second break in contact . . . Emily pushed herself, and her t-shirt, up so she could shift over to straddle his torso.

If they were doing this . . . and she had decided that they were . . . they were sure as hell going to do it right. And with her shirt now bunched up at her waist, his hands immediately came up to slide along her bare thighs.

Her skin began to tingle.

So she leaned in closer. With her mouth exploring his, she had one hand on his pillow to support her weight, and the other hand raking through his hair.

Then his tongue brushed into hers and she moaned.

They were doing something new, and something familiar at the same time. How he gently explored her mouth with his tongue, he was clearly remembering things that she had liked before. And that's because they had taken many of these steps before.

They were becoming old pros.

But other things were new. The way his fingertips slid up to her hips, and then his hands began to slide tentatively up and under her shirt, moving along her sides. And when she made no move to stop him . . . she had no desire to stop him . . . the tentativeness in his actions was gone.

His palms molded the curve of her naked breasts. And then he was stroking and caressing, and she forgot that this was new for them. Because he seemed to know exactly what she liked.

And somehow that seemed important. That they would be good at this, even though they'd never been together like this before.

And as his thumbs began to rub soft circles around her nipples, hardening them to little pebbles, she felt something rise up in her. It was a visceral reaction.

Then she was tearing at his shirt, ripping the fabric as she bit down hard, and into his lip. And when she tasted a hint of copper hit her tongue, his reaction was even more animalistic than hers.

He growled against her mouth.

It was the only sound he made before one of those hands on her breasts dropped down, sliding into the small bit of material where her underwear came up to cover her stomach . . . and then his fingers slipped between her legs.

She gasped.

It wasn't just the surprise, it was the pleasure. Everything was already so sensitive, and wet, that she'd just been waiting for him to touch her.

And that he did.

She let out another deep and throaty moan and then another, and another, now panting and gasping against his mouth as his fingers moved back and forth, in and out, gently caressing and stroking and basically just driving her out of her FUCKING mind!

And then she bucked against him.

FUCK YES!

That was the only thought left right before the pleasure crested to a swirl of colors that filled her mind. And for a moment there was nothing else.

Nothing but him.

Hotch.

Aaron.

To her he was Aaron now. But then slowly, very slowly, her mind began to clear. And she found that she had her face buried in his throat. Feeling him still touching her down below, slowly she worked her lips back up, sucking on his collarbone . . . and his throat . . . his ear lobe.

And then along his jaw.

Just as he was making her begin to gasp again, she could hear him panting her name as she left each new mark on him. And make no mistake, that's what she was doing. She was marking him as hers with each inch of flesh she covered. It didn't matter that she had no direct competition in that moment.

She still wasn't going to share.

And then finally she was back to his mouth again. And again she plundered. Her fingernails scraping along his chest as their tongues tangled for dominance. And she just wanted to keep going and going, to move beyond second base, to give him the signal and just have him slide on into third.

Because third base . . . as evidenced by the continued grinding against his hand . . . was MORE than ready to welcome a new player home!

But the small part of her brain still involved with higher functioning, started debating with herself as his wonderful fingers, and wonderful mouth . . . with lips that she wanted to bronze . . . just kept going on and on with their wonderful activities.

But then her arm finally buckled.

She dropped down on top of him with an, "oomph." And with that new angle, his remaining hand on her breast slid back down to her hips and then along her ass. The hand between her legs stayed working for another minute. It was trapped there, but still moving, now finishing in slow and steady circles.

She was just about to come again.

So she shifted her hips slightly, giving him more freedom. He took it.

His fingers slipped back further . . . and then completely inside her.

Her eyes fell shut and she sucked in a breath that she lost a second later.

OH JESUS!

She began to rock against him, feeling those digits again work their perfect rhythm. Sliding in and out, back and forth. Slow and fast.

All in a new . . . perfect . . . place.

He was . . . her back arched . . . AMAZING at this!

Her second cry was smothered by a kiss. That one was soft and tender.

So tender that it brought tears to her eyes.

And as his hand slipped out of her, and then slowly out of the now soaking wet cotton, she felt his growing erection pressing into her stomach.

At that point she just wanted him inside her.

And she wanted it SO much that she couldn't stop herself from shifting back to grind down on him. And that was even though she wasn't quite at the moment yet where she was ready to take off his pants. But feeling the heat of him moving against her, that alone was making her somewhat ridiculously happy. Perhaps because again, she was marking a piece of him as hers, and hers alone.

When she was ready for him, she could have him.

And though she knew in that moment that she was the one with the power, she was trying not to abuse it. She wasn't making him wait just because she could. She was making him wait because they weren't there yet.

They still needed to talk.

But in the meantime . . . as his hands moved back up to her nipples . . . she moved back to kissing him. She was trying to make everything better with her touch. Gently moving her lips over the bruises on his chest and shoulders. Then the swelling under his eye . . . and finally the cut on his temple.

And then she was back down at his mouth again.

His hands were also moving around her body, but for both of them the kissing had become soft and gentle. On her part that was because she was realizing that she'd missed this.

Him.

She hadn't realized, not even a little, that their previous physical interactions had made such an impression her. Especially that night in the bar. That what they had done . . . and what they had stopped themselves from doing . . . had left this imprint.

This desire.

Because back then, that night, it had been all about him. About making him feel better. Back then he was something that she couldn't have.

And now she could.

And she wanted him more than anything, or anyone, she'd wanted in a very long time. And she knew without a doubt, as soon as she gave him the signal, he would have her stripped naked, on her back and screaming his name until the sun came up.

That's what she wanted. It hadn't been the plan when she'd starting kissing him . . . that was really only intended to be some heavy petting before a serious talk . . . but she could see now that sex would be the ONE thing to really wash this horrendous day away.

For both of them.

But she wanted to make sure that they didn't jump completely off that cliff, without Hotch knowing why she wanted to do it. Or more specifically, why now.

Why tonight.

Because she didn't want this to be another weak spot in his history with her . . . another moment he would later catalog on his list of regrets.

It would hurt too much.

Because ultimately, this moment was about something more important than sex. It was about human companionship. That spark of electricity . . . that aching need for another person, that's why she had climbed on top of him. To remind him of what was out there waiting for him.

He just had to try again.

So though she HATED with every fiber in her being that she had to stop kissing him, she knew that the time had come. If she didn't do it now, she was going to mess this whole night up.

So, slowly, she broke away. And that time . . . when she just leaned back and looked down at him . . . Emily could see that Hotch's eyes were wide with both confusion and desire.

They were both trying to catch their breath.

And he looked so handsome . . . and so adorably confused . . . that Emily just wanted to yank his boxers off, and go to town. But she held back.

For the moment.

There were things to say first. So as his hands moved back down to her hips, she slid one of her hands up to cover his heart.

It was pounding away.

She smiled, though tears were beginning to sting her eyes.

"This," she whispered breathlessly, "this moment, is not a mistake, or poor judgment, or the lateness of the hour. This," she reached up to stroke her finger along his cheek, feeling the faint stubble tickling her finger, "is being alive. Being connected. And we need that just as much as the rest of the world," her voice started to thicken, "perhaps even a bit more given this work that we do. And I heard what you said when you thought I was sleeping. So, the next time that you start believing that our history," a tear spilled over and down her cheek, "our relationship, that it's riddled with regrets because of these moments that we've shared, moments where you felt you were weak and let me in against what you thought was your better judgment," she sniffled, "please remember this feeling. Remember that you're happy. Remember that I never hurt you, that I never left you," another tear ran down her cheek, "I just kissed you. And you kissed me back," she gave him another watery smile right before her voice cracked, "and it was good."

"Prent . . . Emily . . . I . . ."

Hotch stammered to try and respond, but Emily just put her finger to his lips.

"No," she whispered, "just listen. I'm saying this because you need to hear it. It's better to be with someone. I'm alone because I have lousy taste in men, but I keep trying, because I want to find somebody and be happy. And I know that you've been hurt and that you've kind of lost your way, but," she leaned up to press her forehead against his, their breaths then mingling together, "I want you to find somebody too. I want you to let someone in your life again. I don't want you to be alone," her voice cracked, "it makes me sad. Because you're really great Hotch, you're one of the best men I know. And you deserve so much to be happy," another tear ran down her face, "even if you don't think so."

Seeing that Hotch's eyes were now watering too, Emily lowered herself down to give him a salty kiss. Then she patted his cheek, and moved over to lay her head down on his shoulder.

"So," she continued softly, trying to clear the emotion in her voice, "that's what I wanted to say before we went any further. That no matter what happens next, that I want you to remember this night, and remember our other kisses, and then I want you to remember how much better life is when you're not alone. And that's mostly all I had planned to say when I first kissed you. But," she sniffled and wiped her hand across her cheek, "I guess the stress of the day, we went farther than I thought we would."

Feeling Hotch tense up slightly at that, Emily immediately rubbed her hand across his chest.

"That wasn't to imply I regretted anything we did. Even if wasn't the plan," she kissed his cheek, "it was great. And if you want to keep going now, and I hope you do, I'm on the pill. And," she added softly, "I think our relationship, working and otherwise, will still be just fine tomorrow no matter what. But if you want to stop now, I get it. I don't want us to do anything that will make you uncomfortable later. Because this," she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, "whatever we are," her voice started to catch again, "it means something too. And it's too important to screw up."

And with that, Emily dropped her head back down to his chest . . . and let him decide.

So much had changed this last year, and even more so over the last six months, that it was almost astounding that they were to a point that they could even have a conversation like this. But whatever their relationship had evolved into, in many ways with Hotch Emily felt like the girl who told the emperor he had no clothes. Because as far as she knew, next to Dave, she really was the only one that would . . . or could . . . speak the God's honest truth to this man. Most people were too scared to even consider speaking plainly with him. But somebody needed to. And somebody needed to look after him.

Because he was doing a lousy job of looking after himself.

Hotch's heart was pounding as his mouth opened . . . and then closed. His eyes were still watery, and he had butterflies in his stomach. He was confused, and aroused, and sad, and happy . . . and he just couldn't get enough blood flowing to his brain to sort any of that out.

And while he was trying to process everything that Emily had just said . . . and what they had done before that . . . Hotch brought his hand up to wipe his mouth.

It was wet.

But as his thumb ran across his lip, he bit down on it for a moment, and he realized then that it tasted of the peppermint that Emily had popped earlier.

And it also tasted of her.

From when he had touched her. And now that taste was on his lips, and on his tongue. All he could taste was her. And now he wanted to taste ALL of her. Peppermint, salty, musky . . . all of it.

FUCK!

His eyes screwed shut for a moment, desperately trying to make a decision that he hadn't REALLY thought that he would have to make that night. Could he have sex with Emily, could they be happy for a little while, and not F up everything else up between them?

Would everything still be okay in the morning?

She said that it would be, and he wanted her to be right. He wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in a long time, but he was afraid of making the wrong choice. When they were just going on and on, touching each other and making out, and not thinking or talking, it was all okay. But now his brain was working again.

And his brain was always thinking too much.

And his attraction for Emily was one of those things that he worked so hard to deny. Which was why he also worked so hard to try to keep her at arm's length. And he probably worked harder with her than anyone else, because she had always refused to stay at arm's length. She was always there, invading his bubble. Always just within reach.

He just had to reach out.

But he never did.

Because this life that was thrust upon him, it was the life of a single man. It was an isolated and lonely world. And Emily was now pushing along those edges, offering a night without isolation.

A night of no strings sex with a beautiful woman.

And here he was trying to decide if he was going to push that away. He bit his lip.

Sometimes he really did think entirely too much.

His gaze shifted back down to Emily's. She was staring at him, her eyes bright in the glow from the quiet television.

"Do you really think," he asked slowly, "that even if we do this, that we'll still be okay?"

Putting all of the rest of it aside, on this single point, he would trust her judgment completely. She'd never been wrong about them before.

Emily smiled.

"Of course we'll be okay," she whispered back, her index finger coming up to trail over his lips, "we're us."

And that was it in a nutshell, they were them. The rules . . . for some inexplicable reason that even she didn't understand . . . had never applied to them.

Thank God for that.

"Right," Hotch's eyes crinkled as she climbed back onto his chest, "we're us."

And his decision was made.

"Okay then," he smirked as his thumbs hooked into the corners of her underwear.

"Let's keep going."

*/*/*/*/

It had been nearly twenty years since Hotch had slept with anyone besides Haley, so the experience of having sex with Emily should have been strange . . . but somehow, it wasn't.

It was definitely new . . . the curves and the moans were most assuredly not his ex-wife's . . . but all of it still seemed familiar somehow. The taste of Emily, the smell of her, the feel of her skin, so soft and smooth, gliding against his body, it was . . . wonderful. And it wasn't just the physical gratification of the act either. It was something else.

Something that he didn't want to lose.

So when it was done, and she kissed him one last time, and gave him one last happy smile, he felt a tug in his gut. A hard enough tug that he found himself leaning in to press his lips to hers again.

Just one more for the road.

Just in case it was the last time.

Then he took a breath . . . and slipped himself off of her, and rolled to the side. For a moment they lay there side by side, panting and staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to say something . . . or do something . . . something to make it all normal and "them."

Because that's what Emily had promised it would be.

But for a moment he was stuck, wondering what he was allowed to do. If he could hold her . . . if he could sleep there.

Or was he just expected to roll out of bed, pick up his pants, and leave?

He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay more than anything, but he didn't know if that's what SHE wanted. And what SHE wanted was really what was paramount right then.

He wasn't going to do anything to make her uncomfortable.

But Christ . . . he bit his lip . . . how DID these things work?! It had been so long since he'd had a 'random' sexual encounter that he couldn't remember!

And he was so afraid of fucking up!

But when his heart finally stopped racing, he realized that he needed to make a decision. And he was just about to say "screw it" and straight out ASK her if he could sleep there, when Emily picked up his hand.

She kissed it.

Right on the palm.

The action was so sweet, and unexpected, that it brought tears to his eyes. Then she picked up his arm . . . like it was hers to rearrange, though he supposed in that moment it kind of was, she'd made her mark everywhere . . . and slipped herself underneath it. Lastly she hooked her leg around his thigh, put her head on his chest, and snuggled into his side.

She sighed.

It was a happy sound. And as her fingers began to lightly stroke along his abdomen, he tried to blink the moisture out of his eyes.

He could stay.

But even more than that, as he felt her warm body wrapped around him, and her delicate fingers tracing little patterns along his torso, he knew that he wasn't just allowed to stay. She wanted him to stay.

She wanted him there in her bed.

And for someone who had been abandoned by the one person who had VOWED to stay with him, and love him, until death they did part, that was a big moment.

One he was going to remember.

Because it was as Emily had said earlier . . . that feeling of being connected to someone again, it was there, as a burn in his chest. An ember. It was like coming back to life.

And he didn't want to go cold again.

But he had no idea how to keep this connection alive. He and Emily weren't in love, they weren't even 'dating.' They were just . . . his jaw tightened . . . well, Christ he didn't know what the hell they were. But he knew that they were something.

But that something wasn't romantic.

There wasn't a relationship there. Not now, and it wasn't really something that he was interested in pursuing. It wasn't that he didn't care for her, because he did. Very much so. But it was too soon for him to even consider trying to build a real relationship with anyone.

He was still too f'd up to make it work.

But he just wanted to keep this, this spark of life, and this connection with not just another person, but a person that he genuinely cared about.

But because he couldn't think of a solution to that problem . . . certainly not an immediate one . . . he decided to at least alleviate one concern that might have been on Emily's mind.

So he turned to press a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm happy that we did this," he murmured against her skin, "and I won't regret it tomorrow. I promise."

And he could hear the smile in her voice as she whispered back.

"Good," she murmured while letting her fingers dance a bit lower down his abdomen, "because I was just thinking, if it's okay with you, that we should do that again sometime. Maybe," her jaw twisted, "maybe even on a regular basis. What do you think?"

She wasn't generally a proponent of office affairs, especially ones with your boss . . . this was the first time that she'd slept with anyone in any part of her chain of command . . . but Hotch was different. Her relationship with him was entirely different than any relationship that she had with anyone else.

And that sex was AMAZING!

With all of that innate alpha dominance and control, the man had incredible skills! And even though he was unmistakably, 'in charge' the whole time . . . and she was okay with that . . . he wasn't at all demanding or rough with her.

Quite the opposite really.

He was actually very sweet and gentle, and attentive in ways . . . and in areas . . . where most men showed minimal attention or effort.

And Hotch's effort was NOT at all minimal!

She supposed in retrospect, that it wasn't really surprising to learn that he brought the same drive and focus to sex, as he did everything else that she'd ever seen him do. But having that drive focused SO intently on her body, and her pleasure, was an aphrodisiac in itself. As a lover . . . she bit down on her lip . . . well, she was ranking him right at the top of the list. That mouth and those fingers and his . . . well, she'd come three times before they'd finally climaxed together.

And having that release with him . . . someone else who was chasing away the demons in the dark . . . it had made her feel emotionally, and intimately, connected to him in a way that she'd never felt with anyone else. It was like being brought to a secret place that only they knew about. And that place was warm, and it was safe.

And she wasn't ready to leave it totally behind.

And she was hoping by the silence from the man at her side . . . and the lack of reactionary tension in his body when she'd posed the question . . . that he was genuinely considering her proposal.

Because really, it's not like either of them were active on the social scene. The last few months she'd been running through the usual, sporadic, string of one to three date, schmos. And she was ninety percent sure that Hotch was still too new to singlehood to have even considered asking out a woman for sit down meal. So what would be the harm if they came to some kind of a temporary 'arrangement'?

She really couldn't see a downside.

After all they'd kissed in the past, and made out in the past, and it hadn't screwed up their relationship at all. If anything it had just brought them closer. Brought them to where they were at that moment.

Naked.

But if an arrangement wasn't something that he wanted . . . if this was just a one off to get them through a bad day . . . then tomorrow they would simply go back to how things were yesterday.

And that would be okay too.

Because either way, what happened tonight was good for both of them. And not just physically . . . though they had at least worked off the stress of the day . . . but mostly she was just happy that it would strengthen their bond. Bring them a bit closer.

Maybe even make them regular friends.

But she was still hoping that Hotch would say yes to the sex too.

And as he began tapping his fingers on her hip, she felt it very likely that a "yes" was coming shortly.

But he just needed to get to it himself.

Hotch was quiet as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the arrangement that Emily had proposed. How appealing the idea was.

It was like she had read his mind.

Though part of him knew that he should say no on principle because of their chain of command, that would be a bullshit excuse. Because if either of them actually cared about that . . . or felt it was an issue . . . they wouldn't have been lying there naked to start.

Yes, he might have been 'in charge' on duty, but when it came to his personal life, Emily Prentiss had never expressed the slightest bit reticent in saying . . . or doing . . . exactly as she damn well pleased.

Hence an hour ago when she'd climbed on top of him and began to suck on his face.

So balancing those two points out, Hotch knew that they were very much equals in terms of power and control over the other. Which left the other major workplace concern . . . somebody else finding out about them.

Especially a concern in a unit like theirs.

But as he considered that point . . . and realized that without a 'romantic relationship' element, their interactions at work were unlikely to be any different than usual . . . he dismissed that objection as well.

Nobody would know.

So as he began to tap his fingers gently on Emily's hip, he realized that just left 'emotional entanglement.'

That somehow sex would make their relationship complicated.

But he didn't really think that would be a problem either. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to think that having regular sex wouldn't have ANY effect on his feelings for Emily. For one thing it would certainly increase his level of attachment to her.

And perhaps even his affection as well.

But he didn't really think that would be such a bad thing. He'd been isolated for a long time. The only physical human contact he had left with anyone, was with his son. He saw him once a week.

If he didn't get called out of town.

And considering the points that Emily had made earlier, Hotch could see now that Jack alone wasn't enough to get him through this darkness. If he didn't find some outlet . . . someone just like Emily . . . he was going to live his life alone. A life that was sucked down in anger and bitterness. And what kind of a father would he be then?

One just like your own.

The answer was whispered up from Hotch's subconscious. And that realization was enough to cause a stab of pain in his chest. Finally he nodded. It was slow, and it was as much to himself, as to Emily.

"Yeah," he whispered as his fingers slid up her side, "yeah, I think I could get on board with that idea."

And then he tried to soften his next words with a kiss to her temple, and a tug to pull her closer.

"But only if it's just um . . ."

And he trailed off, trying to think of the least crass term for sex without any emotional commitment. As usual, Emily bailed him out.

"Only if it's just sex, and not a relationship," Emily finished Hotch's thought with a gentle pat of his stomach. "I agree."

Then she tipped her head back slightly to give him a little smile.

"Any other ground rules, aside from the obvious of keeping it out of the office?," She paused for a beat, "you don't want me to get a landing strip design for my next bikini wax, right?"

Emily's earlier misery had finally faded. It was impossible to be sad and depressed after a round of really incredible, mind blowing, sex.

Well, okay . . . she corrected . . . it was 'possible' like if it was break up sex, or something. But this wasn't break up, or 'oh fuck, who the hell did I just sleep with' sex. It was 'kiss it and make it better' sex.

And boy had Hotch ever kissed it and made it better!

Still though, she figured a little joke would help ease any potential awkward pauses in working out the specifics here. Just a reminder that she saw their relationship no differently than she had before. And she could tell from the vibration of laughter in Hotch's chest, that the joke had done the trick.

"No," Hotch gave a soft chuckle, "no, that's okay, thanks," he answered while tangling their fingers together, "I was able to find everything okay without any runway lights installed."

See, now THAT was why he had done this. And that was why he thought that doing it again . . . doing it regularly . . . would probably be okay. Because Emily was Emily, and Emily was unlike ANY other woman that he had ever met.

She made a proposal like this seem normal, when it was anything but.

"Yeah," Emily huffed, "for the new guy in town," she shot him a saucy wink. "You did a good job of finding all the major landmarks."

And he did it with minimal wrong turns. So now she was really anxious to see what he could do now that he had a map of the neighborhood! But it was too late to go again . . . her eyes shot over to the clock on the cable box . . . wasn't it?

Eh . . . her nose wrinkled . . . almost four.

But they had been sleeping for a couple hours before, she reminded herself, and they didn't have to be at the sheriff's office until eight-thirty or nine. The sheriff certainly wouldn't be in any earlier.

Not given that he was working at the crime scene until after midnight.

Which meant that even if they went for round two . . . as she now really, REALLY wanted to, his fingertips were caressing that little spot down low on her hip . . . they'd still probably get like another three hours of sleep. So . . . she did a quick calculation in her head . . . that would be maybe five hours total.

That was more than enough.

Decision made to seduce . . . if necessary . . . her new sex partner into a round two of her screaming his name, Emily sat up. Then she turned look down at Hotch. And she could tell by the little glint in his eye that 'seduction' would not be necessary.

He was ready to go.

So she did what she had earlier . . . though this time she was completely naked . . . moved over to straddle his chest. Hotch's lips twitched.

"If this is going to be your new way of getting my attention," he murmured while pulling her down into a kiss, "I have to say. I'm very much on board with it."

"So I guess you're not too tired?" She asked with a grin while nibbling on his lip.

His answer was to slide his hands up her side, his palms gliding up and along the very outer curve of her breasts.

It tickled.

She broke the kiss with a smirk . . . one that he countered with a flick of her nipples and a saucy wink.

She laughed then, it was a deep and throaty sound, and she realized suddenly . . . she was happy. For the first time all day, perhaps even all week, all of the darkness in her life . . . and there was so much of it . . . was pushed away.

And that was all because of him.

So she shifted herself back from his torso, sliding to areas further south. Areas that were hardening again by the second.

Emily raised herself up, hovering over him for a moment . . . his hands now tight on her hips, helping to hold her up, and guiding her to just the right angle. And when she finally felt that warm, insistent quiver pressing into her, she gave him a tight nod . . . and together, they began to lower her down.

The warmth slowly . . . inch by wonderful inch . . . began to fill her . . . taking her breath in the process.

And then the process was complete.

Her weight no longer being supported by his hands, or her thighs, it was just her body and his, as one. Again.

Her eyes fell shut.

One hand came up to her mouth, and she bit down on her thumb. But still she made herself remain motionless, letting her mind process the feeling of the most intimate connection one person can have with another.

After a day filled with death and sadness . . . she couldn't have felt more alive.

And then she felt Hotch move.

It wasn't a full thrust, just an agonizingly slow, upwards swirl. And the angle was just right, just perfect . . . a shot of pleasure exploded out from that point of contact.

Her breath was gone again.

Her teeth dug into her thumb, just as her eyes popped open. Hotch was staring so intently, and with such open desire, that it brought a flush to her cheeks.

This man could do the strangest things to her.

"What are you thinking?"

His voice was low and deep, and came with another half thrust . . . and another shot of pleasure.

She moaned.

And she realized then . . . as his eyes caught her in that dark nexus . . . that his control over her in that moment was absolute. As interrogation techniques went, for this one she had no defense.

Nor did she want one.

In that moment she wanted nothing but this dance to go on forever. His hands had moved down to rest against her upper thighs, his fingertips were pressing lightly into her skin.

She smiled.

"I'm thinking that if you keep that up, I'd probably give you my ATM code and the combination to my safe."

Hotch's eyes crinkled faintly, but she also saw him shake his head.

"Uh, uh," he whispered with another slow circular thrust, "tell me what you're really thinking."

She smiled again . . . though that time her eyes were burning.

"I was thinking that I wished that we'd done this before." She whispered back, her voice catching, "and I'm thinking that you took a terrible day, and you gave it a happy ending. No pun intended. And I'm thinking that having you inside me," she reached down to cup his jaw, "is making me happier than I've been in a very long time."

Seeing Hotch's expression soften, she brushed her thumb over his lips.

"What are you thinking?"

He smiled.

"That you look gorgeous. And that I feel incredibly grateful that someone as kind and sweet as you, would want to be with someone like me, even for just a little while."

Emily's eyes immediately filled with the tears that had been hovering.

"Are you trying to make me cry?" She asked with a sniffle as she leaned forward to press her lips to his.

Sometimes the man was just ridiculously sweet.

"No," he murmured back, "I just wanted you to know that you've made me very happy too."

And then he deepened the kiss, and she opened her mouth. And as her hands slid along his chest, his hands wrapped around her waist.

Finally she began to move.

And that was their second time . . . or at least how it began.

By Emily's estimation . . . and she presumed Hotch's as well . . . the second time was even better than the first. The second time they both knew exactly what the other liked . . . and what they didn't . . . and overall it was just a smoother ride from the start.

And then she noticed Hotch's oral attention to her breasts . . . which she had been very much enjoying . . . had suddenly waned. Now he was just watching her move, but she couldn't quite read his expression. So she reached out and touched his cheek, though her thrusts remained slow and steady.

There was a momentum building that she didn't want to break.

"What?" She asked with a slightly breathless tip of her head.

But he just shook his head, his expression . . . whatever it was . . . softening to something that she could read. Though it wasn't something she'd ever seen on his face before.

It caused a little flutter in her stomach.

"Nothing."

He answered softly. "Nothing at all." Then he pulled her down, pulled her closer as he shifted slightly for a better angle. And when her eyes fell shut again, his lips and tongue moved back to their earlier activities.

Softly licking and sucking first one already tender nipple . . . and then the other.

He was so good at it, and she felt so good while he was doing it, that she made a mental note to do something special for him the next time she had him naked.

After all . . . she bit back a moan . . . she had a few licking and sucking skills herself.

She'd put them to good use.

Hotch was trying to do something new, to let Emily stay on top until they were done. Given the number of times that he'd had sex in his life, that shouldn't have been such a novel concept. But he'd never let a woman stay on top before. Not all the way to the end. It was just too difficult for him to give up that much control.

Giving up ANY control really, was an effort.

But he also couldn't deny the beauty in watching Emily moving on top of him. Her hair was wild, her skin was glowing, and her bouncing breasts were in the perfect position for him to nibble and caress. And all of that was almost reason enough to let her stay where she was. But eventually his alpha dominance overrode even his sexual desires.

Her Cowgirl had him teetering right on the edge.

But when he finally made the move and flipped them over, she just smiled and leaned up to kiss him. Then she whispered against his lips, that she was amazed that he'd held off as long as he had.

And for that . . . for being just the person that he needed, and a little bit more . . . Hotch gave her a soft kiss as he shifted their positions again.

Straight missionary wasn't going to work for his plans right then. So he rearranged her limbs and whispered his request in her ear.

And as expected, with Emily clutching the headboard with both hands, and his thighs straddling hers, he had her panting and gasping again within minutes.

Then her whole body arched, and she began to writhe up and scream his name.

And though that made him ridiculously happy . . . not just to pleasure her, but that she was again (as earlier) calling him Aaron, and not Hotch . . . they were in a hotel.

More specifically, a small . . . quiet . . . inn.

One where everybody had already noticed them.

So when Emily dropped one arm down to muffle her cries with her fist, he didn't ask her to refrain . . . he just moved her arm down to cover her cries with another kiss.

Though at the same time she was moaning and panting and biting into his lip, he did make a note to find another move to make her scream like that again when they got home.

And that time he wanted to hear it loud and clear.

Some time . . . and a two other positions . . . later, with her then sitting and straddling his lap, for the second time that night, Hotch felt that exquisite momentum building to its final peak.

But knowing that his own cry coming was coming with it, he moved to bury his face in Emily's shoulder. Then he wrapped his arms around her sweaty body and came with a hard shudder and a muffled yell.

At that point Emily was again riding down her own wave . . . her sixth of the night, yes, he was counting . . . and as he whispered her name like a prayer and kissed her neck.

She leaned back.

And then she pressed her forehead to his, dug her heel into his back, and locked her muscles down around him. He gasped.

JESUS CHRIST!

With that move, and the corresponding extension of pleasure that she shared with him, Emily gave him a grin that was so wanton and so dirty, that he couldn't help giving her one in return.

It really was a great fuck.

And it made Hotch want to start up all over again. But for the time being, even with her body still humming and vibrating around him, he was too exhausted . . . and physically spent . . . to go a third time right then.

It had been a very long day, and he was not as young as he used to be.

So instead of suggesting that they try something against the wall . . . one of the things that Haley was never game for, too much work she said . . . he just kissed Emily one last time. Slowly sucking on her tongue and again exploring her mouth, until those lovely vibrations had completely passed.

"That was so gooood," she moaned against his mouth, "so fucking good I can't even stand it."

And then she broke the kiss and dropped her head down to his shoulder.

"I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow." She mumbled.

Hotch grinned as he wrapped her up in his arms, and moved to rub his cheek against hers. Then he whispered back.

"I'll get you one of those golf carts they have at the airport."

Feeling the vibration of her laughter against his chest, Hotch huffed slightly, before closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Though he knew that they needed to break apart . . . they were literally still physically joined . . . he wanted to wait just one minute. Not just for the emotional comfort that Emily was giving him, but there was also a more practical concern.

He was fucking exhausted.

And with them both gasping and slick with sweat, they needed a moment to catch their breath and cool down anyway. It was just easier to do that together than apart.

At least that's what he told himself.

But after their breaths had evened out, and he could feel the perspiration on his body begin to dry, Hotch felt Emily suddenly shiver against his body.

"I'm getting cold," she whispered. And his eyes crinkled slightly.

He could hear the pout in her voice.

"Okay," he patted her back, "time for blankets. But let's get up for a minute and I'll change the bed first."

And after that much sexual activity in that short a period of time, the sheet was really too damp to be comfortable to sleep on anyway. The wet spots . . . which were basically all the spots, their moves had run the gamut . . . were just going to be really cold and sticky spots.

And that was just, gross.

So Hotch loosened his hold on Emily's body, and she sat back, kissing him once more while slowly shimmying herself backwards and off his lap.

As he felt the physical separation happen, Hotch also felt a little dig in his chest . . . it was really all over now.

His eyes snapped up to hers, and she gave him a soft smile.

"Still here," she whispered while leaning over to kiss him again. Then she dropped back to her thighs.

He looked at her for a second, the dig being filled then by something else. Something he didn't want to think about. It was too much for one night. So instead, he just shifted around to the edge of the mattress, and dropped his feet to the floor.

For a moment he sat there, rolling his neck and his shoulders . . . the last few hours had been a hell of a workout . . . but then he felt Emily's soft breasts press against his back.

Her arms immediately slipped up and around his chest.

"When we get home," she whispered in his ear, "you can come over twice a week as long as we decide to keep doing this. And if you stay all night, which is fine by me, but totally optional, then you make breakfast in the morning, deal?"

Hotch picked up one of the small hands pressed against his torso. Then he kissed the back of her fingers.

"Deal."

He turned to pull her around and into his lap. And after a quick hug to seal their new, most unusual, arrangement, she dropped her own feet to the carpet, and they stood up.

Seeing Emily give a slight shiver as she wrapped her arms around her body, Hotch felt a familiar wave of affection for this woman who had just shifted into a new role in his life.

Lover.

Curious word . . . he thought as he leaned down to kiss her cheek . . . usually one reserved for women he was actually in love with.

He turned away to begin stripping the bed, though his musings continuing as he worked.

Lover did seem to be the most accurate label. But it was just the first time that he had put that label on anyone new in a very, VERY, long time.

Decades.

But as he thought about it, he realized that it wasn't so unexpected that Emily was the first woman to take that role in his new life.

It seemed destined, almost.

After all, though there had been no great master plan, somehow she had been the one who had been slowly . . . over these last five months . . . guiding him back into the world.

And more specifically, the world without Haley.

Though they had never taken a deliberate step towards 'romantic' involvement . . . and that still wasn't their plan now . . . after twenty years with the same woman, Emily had been the first new hand that he had held. The first new set of slim shoulders that he'd put his arm around when he warmed her up on a cold winter night. That was the night they left their coats in the bar, and went out for Chinese food.

They had a good time.

Then he thought back to their first slow dance . . . their first soft kiss. Their first . . . and previously only . . . wanton make out.

She'd taken him through all of that physically, and so much more emotionally, without entanglement or demands. So it made sense that this final step . . . the last break from his old life . . . would be with her too. Somehow she'd become his guide through this hellish process.

And after tonight he was starting to think that with her help, he might just make it through.

And as she shivered again and said she was going to run to the bathroom, he nodded and stooped down to begin remaking the bed. But then he saw Emily also reach down . . . though she grabbed the soiled bottom sheet that he'd just tossed onto the floor.

His eyebrow rose as she dragged it off to the bathroom with her. And just as he was going to ask what she was doing with it, the door clicked shut. He stared for a second, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Then he shrugged.

Oh well . . . he turned back to his task . . . the question would keep.

Once he'd straightened out the top sheet as the new bottom one . . . it'd been thrown to the floor an hour and a half ago, so it was basically clean . . . he tucked it in around the edges of the mattress. Then he went over to pull two, fresh, lightweight blankets down from the upper shelf of the closet.

He was tossing the pillows back on the bed . . . on top of the new blankets . . . when Emily stepped out of the bathroom.

The sheet was nowhere to be seen.

And as their eyes caught across the small room, she gave him a slightly abashed smile.

"Seeing as we now know personally like all seven staff here, and that we had bagels with three of them this morning in the kitchen, I'd kind of like to not look like a giant skank having what would appear to be a really dirty one night stand with God knows who. Soo," she huffed slightly as she started walking closer, rubbing her arms again, "I rinsed the sheet out and hung it up to dry on the shower stall."

If it was a big no name hotel she wouldn't have given two shits about what people thought of her nocturnal activities. But it was different when you actually KNEW the people changing your bed. She certainly wouldn't want Lorelai to wash her sex sheets. And she would truly be MORTIFIED if that pig Michel had ANY inkling of what she and Hotch had been up to. Because Emily did consider her sex life to be very private, and she had no doubt that Michel would say something crude and disgusting about it.

And then she'd have to kill him.

Hotch tipped his head slightly, thinking about what she'd said. Then he nodded.

"Okay." Then he tipped his head, "if it would make you feel better, I can bring my sheets over and put them on your bed. And I'll put the dirty ones on my bed." His lip quirked up.

"Then I'll be the giant skank."

Emily giggled.

"Thanks," she started walking back over still laughing and rubbing her arms, "but given that we've been pretty much attached at the hip walking around this town, I think I'd still be the presumed skankee."

Hotch huffed.

"Well," he turned to pull down the bed covers, "perhaps. But if you change your mind, just let me know and I'll do the switch when we wake up."

Seeing Emily smile right before murmuring a "thanks," Hotch turned to reach up to pull the drapes closed . . . the sun would be shining through them soon enough. Then he took a drink of water from the bottle on the nightstand, before he'd climbed back into the now freshly made bed.

The clean sheet felt much nicer.

After he'd fixed his pillow, Hotch reached over to flip back the blankets on the other side. Emily hopped onto the mattress, and before he could blink, she'd moved over to climb on top of him.

"I want to sleep here."

The words were a murmur as she snuggled up and buried her face in his neck. Then she wrapped her arms around his chest, and shifted to line up all of her other body parts, with his corresponding ones.

Realizing their bare skin now pressed together from nose to toes, Hotch's expression softened as he slipped his arm around her back.

"Good night." He whispered with a kiss to her temple. Then he used his free hand to tuck the blankets up and over them, making sure her shoulders were completely covered.

Hearing Emily's contented sigh when she murmured, "g'night," back, Hotch's eyes crinkled.

That was why she'd climbed on top of him . . . she was cold.

And now she was warm again.

Well . . . he thought as his fingertips stroked along her back . . . regardless of her reasons for the cuddle, it was really nice lying with her this way. The weight of her body, the soft fullness of her breasts on his skin, the warmth from being pressed together from head to toe, it was just . . . nice. Comforting. Not even sexual really.

Intimate.

The word popped into his head. And he knew then that's what it was, that's what they'd found tonight, not just sexual intimacy, but emotional intimacy as well. It was something that had been long missing from his life . . . it was another thing that Haley had taken with her when she left . . . but unlike his son, it wasn't something that he'd realized was gone, until he got it back.

That was the spark.

And now he was trying to keep that spark alive with a woman that he wasn't in love with. It was going to be difficult. But he realized that he and Emily were bonded in other ways beyond the romantic. They had an affection and respect for one another that was beyond that of mere colleagues.

Or even simple friends.

And, well . . . his fingertips stilled on her back . . . he supposed that there was love there too. Not romantic love, but he did know that if something happened to her . . . if she died . . . that there would be grief.

And it would be severe.

But that was because the team was his family, and families were created . . . and bound . . . by love. Love, affection and loyalty.

Even when they drove each other nuts.

As Hotch lay there, thinking about things that he didn't ordinarily allow himself to think about, a lightning bolt suddenly slammed into him.

He didn't feel lonely.

Not with Emily lying there on top of him. And it felt so strange to have that gap in his chest now filled. Because loneliness and detachment, they had been his constant companions for at least a year. Perhaps . . . if he was honest with himself . . . even closer to two. It was an emptiness that had begun first as small hole, and then as a gaping one.

The gaping came after Haley and Jack had left.

But they'd been there, both of them, when the feeling had first started . . . that feeling that he'd lost his place in his world. It was sometime after Jack was born, and sometime before his wife walked out the door.

Somewhere in there he'd been displaced from his life.

Once they had the baby, his work life and his home life had become completely incongruous. Work was a terrible place, and not one where you could truly live. Not if you wanted to remain sane. But his home life, it had become a mythical place.

A world where he no longer fit in.

Haley and Jack, their world was one of light, and life . . . and happiness. And his was one of death, and torture and misery. His efforts to go back and forth, they had slowly become farce.

Of course he hadn't really realized that at the time.

But with Elle's descent, and Reid's abduction, and then what had happened with Gideon, all of that darkness and despair . . . and yes, insanity . . . it had begun to surround him, destroy him, in a way that it hadn't before.

It had kept him outside his family's little bubble of light.

But now, at this moment . . . he tipped his head down to rest against Emily's . . . he felt like he'd found a place again. Not a permanent place, not even close . . . their arrangement was just that, an arrangement, not a relationship . . . but sometimes it wasn't about permanence. It was just about finding the right person at the right moment. And for him, Emily was his person, in this moment.

And that's because they were compatible in a strange way.

There was darkness in her too.

Not as much, but enough for him to feel that she understood him. He'd first realized it that night in the bar. That night she told him the story about putting that guy's head through the wall. That story had made him so sad, because he'd known then that they had things in common.

Things that he wouldn't want her to have in common with him.

But her background wasn't as bad as his, he was sure of that. Not that he actually knew for sure what had happened to her, but he did know that there was light in her soul. And sweetness. She was capable of laughter and joy and openness, in ways that he was not.

In ways that he envied.

But perhaps if they were going to spend time together anyway, he might try to learn from her example. To try to find a balance to his world again.

To just be happy.

Hell . . . he blinked the tears from his eyes . . . it was worth a shot. Half of his misery was his work, and half of it was simply being alone. And if this thing with Emily . . . for however long it lasted . . . could at least help to push away that emptiness, (as it was now), then maybe that would be a way to start dealing with all the rest of it again. He bit his lip.

Maybe.

For a moment he stared up at the ceiling . . . gauging how far the shadows had moved in the last forty plus minutes. Enough to know that it would be light soon.

Which meant that he should go to sleep.

But still he stared at those shadows for a minute longer.

It was just so much to process. All of this time he'd been physically alone, celibate coming up on ten months . . . and now he had a gorgeous woman lying naked on top of him. They'd had sex twice that night, and by the guidelines of the agreement that Emily had proposed, basically they could have sex whenever they had a free evening.

It was surreal.

And it was a gift.

Perhaps it was his reward for staying faithful after the point where his marriage was a technicality only. Or perhaps it was the universe's way of telling him that it hadn't completely forsaken him. That someday he might actually get back to a happy life again. His eyes crinkled as he pressed a kiss to Emily's temple.

He'd like to think it was a little bit of both.

---

A/N 2: Long one! Basically just explaining how I came to decide on this sequence of events. Skip if you like :)

So you see now why this didn't fit into Girl proper! But as the scene was moving along with them in her room, it just kind of became what it was. And that was because Hotch was so lonely at this point (and in this story), and between that, and how their bond had evolved to that point, I could see him agreeing to have sex. And remember this isn't H/P at the same life point when they considered having sex back in the bathroom and then decided not to. For one thing, they now have THAT bonding experience under their belts, plus as she helped him through the divorce. And most importantly, Hotch is now months divorced, but they're also months from their summer bonding where their relationship shifted (for that time) to just a close friendship.

So this here is kind of that sweet spot right in between, a place where their relationship could have shifted to something more physical without it being weird for them. And again that's just because they are Girl them where they choose to not let things be weird. And also they are at a point where Emily has always been the one to reassure Hotch when they have any kind of physical, or emotional, exchange, so in that way, he trusts her judgment more than his own.

It was a little bit of a challenge writing a sex scene that had enough details so you could tell what they were up to, but not so many details that it became full on smut. Because graphic descriptions would have made this a different kind of story and I didn't want to make this a 'boom chicka' story. The sex wasn't about that. It was supposed to be more finding an emotional connection with two people that aren't actually in love, but have discovered an emotional compatibility that they weren't expecting to find. So you needed to be able to visualize some of it, but I was trying to stick with something between PG-13 and R, which in the U.S. means nobody under 17 without an adult :)

I liked writing the very end, post 'coital' thoughts from Hotch because I got to pull in a few threads from other Girl'verse stories, specifically Second Chances (when they have sex there) and also in Everything Happens For a Reason (when he's starting to accept that his marriage is moving to a place he can no longer repair it.) It makes his feelings here not out of the blue, like hey we just decided to shift gears, hey let's do it(!) but grounded in 'girl'canon'for the undertows of what really has been going on during this last year in his life.

It's always kind of sad walking away from a story that I've enjoyed writing. You're living in a world and painting the picture of what you see and hear, and hopefully making that world bigger and more 'vibrant' with detail with each chapter that's completed. And then when you're done, if you've done your job correctly, then the world that you saw, is now a world that other people can walk into and see as fully dimensional by itself. And then that world gets to live on. But for me, that world is now closed.

That said, I'm intrigued by their relationship as it's ending/beginning here, and it would be interesting (for me, at least) to see how they move forward with this new arrangement. A new way for them to fall in love.

And also, it would be nice to do those visits with Lorelai and Rory at some point coming to see them at work. So, never say never. But I am, if you've noticed, TRYING to get some stuff wrapped up with this new approach of picking a story that's been a multi-year post :) and then just enveloping myself in it, until it's done. I've finished two since August! That might not seem like a huge accomplishment to some people, but if you're a 'long time reader' who has been suffering along waiting for me to finish them these last 3 years, I think you folks appreciate what a big deal that is :)

Not sure what I'll jump into next. I've truly not worked on anything at all but Aaron & Emily for the last like two months. So I'll probably poke around my drafts, and see what grabs me. I'm not saying I'll stay with just one story at a time, but if I can get a on a roll, I think it's beneficial for everybody if I can stick with it until it's done.

Thanks for sticking with it everybody! And I hope the sex turn didn't disappoint anybody! Sometimes the muse goes where she goes, and you have to with her :)