Chapter Sixteen…

Ok…this thing has taken on a life of its own, but because there are VERY few longer Prentiss stories I am just gonna see where it goes…

And now it's time for Hotch and Emily to actually interact with each other!

Enjoy….

As everyone began to bustle about, trying to match the new profile with someone, she was extremely aware that Hotch still stood, looking down at her. He dropped into the chair nearest hers and turned to face her.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, one warm hand wrapping around her uncasted one.

"I'm fine," She told him, inexplicably nervous.

"No, you're not." He said bluntly, hand tightening on hers when she tried to back away. "You're tired, you're hurting, and you're stressed. But you think you have something to prove—either to me, the team, or even yourself."

"Inter-team profiling, Hotch?" Emily leaned back in her chair, trying to put distance between them. "Thought we didn't do that."

"If I'm concerned about any member of my team, I'll do whatever I havte to."

"If I need your help, I'll ask." Emily snapped.

"And I'll offer it. But you've nothing to prove, Prentiss."

"I know that. But if I'm going to be here, I'm going to do my part. If not, I might as well head back to DC." Emily said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her arm free of his grip. It was the first time she could recall him actually touching her. "I'm going to do my part, not to prove anything to anyone, but for sixteen women who didn't get a chance to do their part."

Her dark eyes met his before she continued, and he was struck by the shadows lurking in them. Shadows that only showed on rare occasions and made him wonder just what she'd suffered to put them there. "I would think you'd could understand that, sir. I think you can trust me to know my own limitations by now."

"I do understand, and I do trust you. That doesn't stop me from being concerned."



"If you trust me, you know I'll be fine. But I really want to catch this guy." She finally got her hand free and used it to rub at her eyes.

"We will—I promise you that."

"Then shouldn't we be doing something? What did you get from Franks? Did he say why?"

"Why he fired at you? He's delusional and believes all dark headed, dark eyed women to be the soldiers of Satan. He's a wannabe prophet, been told to cleanse the world of those he perceives as evil."

"So he thought Ziva and I were these soldiers."

"So he says."

"Most likely he knows who the UNSUB is. But why would the UNSUB shoot toward Franks?" Hotch could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "I want to talk to him."

"Absolutely not." Hotch's flesh actually crawled at the thought of her interrogating the man who had already hurt her. Franks was an insane fanatic, there was no telling what he'd do with Emily so close to him. His hand moved, grabbing her much smaller one in his. "You've been injured, you're tired, and stressed. Vulnerable. You can't keep control of an interrogation right now."

Emily was ever conscious of the hand holding hers, its warmth inexplicably comforting—despite the stress the man himself was causing. "We already know I fit the victimology, and am a trigger. Maybe I can get him to talk."

Hotch could almost feel each individual bone in her hand, reminding him that although she was as capable as any agent he'd ever seen, she was still small, and fragile. "It's not a good idea."

"You'd let Morgan if he was a trigger." Emily said, anger tingeing her words.

"Not if he was injured, I wouldn't." Hotch said, although he knew it was a weak argument.

"Yes, you would." Emily insisted. "I can do this. I know I can—you know I can."

As they'd spoken, they'd not noticed most of the other agents had surrounded them, listening shamelessly to the argument.

"She's got a point, man." Morgan said, his earlier suspicions almost confirmed by Hotch's apparent protectiveness. "And you and I both know she's one hell of an interrogator."

"Under normal circumstances—this isn't normal circumstances." Hotch said, sending the other man a look of reproach. Couldn't Morgan see that he just wanted to make sure Emily remained safe?

"I can do this, Hotch. Morgan can be in the room, as well."

"No. If you're going to do it, I'll be there." He finally relented, knowing he had no reasonable reason against it. But he'd be there to make absolutely certain Franks didn't move so much as half a foot closer to Emily than he had to be.

HOTHOTCHOTHOTCH

"You ready?" Hotch asked, looking at the two women behind him. Gibbs had insisted that Ziva sit in on the investigation as well. Since it was a joint jurisdictional case—Hotch couldn't object.

But nothing said he had to like it.

Every primitive instinct within him was screaming that the women—especially Emily—should not get within a hundred yards of Franks.

"Ready." Emily said, her tone resolute and determined.

"Let's get this on." Ziva said. She'd removed the bandages from her forehead, and the wounds were red and raw. But bandages—in her mind—were a sign of weakness. If she had her way, only she and Agent Emily would be in the room.

But she had her suspicions as to why Hotchner would never allow that.

"Remember, Agent Prentiss will do the questioning. You just watch for tells." Hotch said.

"This is not my first interrogation, Agent Hotch. Agent Emily can ask the questions. I will just make sure he answers." Ziva exaggerated only a little, to yank Hotch's string, a little.

"This is by the book, Officer David. Do you understand?"

"Do not worry, Agent Gibbs told me I could not kill this man." Ziva said, shrugging her shoulders ruefully at Emily.

Emily had a good idea that the younger woman was just trying to torment Hotchner—she probably did that with everyone.

Hotch was more than a little convinced that she meant it. He was infinitely glad it was Gibbs who had to keep this woman on a leash and not him.

"Good to hear." He said as he opened the heavy door. "Mr. Franks, my colleagues and I have a few more questions."