Chapter Twenty-One

The guilt would stay with them forever.

Projected cannibalism.

That was what Rossi called it. The act of forcing others to engage in cannibalism, usually to assuage the guilt. The most taboo of all taboos. Consumption of human flesh. And, involuntarily, they had all done it.

The guilt wouldn't leave them for years.

After that incident, nobody would ever again make fun of Reid for his aversion to group foods.

It was too late. By the time Emily threw up, she knew everything had already begun to digest, but the shock took that long to wear off.

JJ was ill their whole plane ride home, and the rest of them all looked more than a little green from the moment they heard Feylinn's sadistic confession. Hotch kept his composure better than the others, but Emily saw the way he sat alone on the jet, and held his head in his hands for most of the flight home, unaware of anybody watching him.

Once inside her own apartment, though, Emily was hunched over her toilet, heaving into the bowl. She barely heard the knock on her front door.

"Em?" It was only when Scott called for her that she heard him, at all. She tried to should back, to tell him to wait, but her words were mangled as her stomach constricted painfully, again, and she retched, bile spilling up her throat. Her stomach was long empty, but still it tried to evacuate what never should have been there, and the result was the burning acid that filled her airways.

Drool smeared the back of her hand as Emily swiped at her mouth, coughing, and got shakily to her feet. She ran her hands under the faucet, shakily lifting a palmful of water to her lips, to swill her mouth out.

Her boots still lay in the hall where she'd kicked them off as soon as she got home, and she swept them to the side with an impatient, uncoordinated kick.

The grin on Scott's face fell as soon as the door swung inwards, as did his hand, holding up a bottle of wine.

"You look like shit," Awful as she felt, Emily couldn't help but laugh at the remark, which was equal parts concerned and blunt.

"Really?" She rubbed her head, where a headache was starting, "I feel great." Emily stepped back, to let him inside, and he headed straight for her kitchen counter, where he deposited the bottle of wine. Emily shut the door, then turned and found herself facing Scott's chest, as he pulled her into a warm hug. Emily tried to shrink away, but his arms locked in place, "Oh, god, don't, not until I've brushed my teeth,"

But Scott drew her close. Emily was careful to turn her face away from him, but Scott's lips weren't searching for hers, anyway. Instead, she felt the gentle pressure of a kiss on her hair, an affectionate gesture on the crown of her head. He rubbed her back, gently.

"Can I do anything?" Emily didn't have a chance to answer, though. She shrugged out of his arms and ran down her hall, to the bathroom, almost slipping as she trod on the back of her own trousers, slightly too long without the heels of her boots to assist her, "Em!"

The bathroom door bounced on its jam as she tried to slam it shut, ineffective in her desperation to reach the toilet in time. She scrabbled for the lock, but couldn't quite fasten it as she felt a jet of acid fire up the back of her throat. Her knees cracked as she collapsed onto the bathroom floor. Tears in her eyes, stomach contracting painfully, empty and angry, Emily barely heard Scott's anxious knocking on the door.

"Em?" Through tears, and retching, she tried to reply.

"Don't-" Swallowing the urge to heave again, Emily spat excess saliva into the toilet bowl, "M-fine-"

"You're not fine, babe," his tone was anxious, and she knew he was right outside of the door. Emily groaned into the toilet, pathetically.

"Please, just go, I'll be fine," she managed, her voice thick with desperation. God, the thought of him seeing this was just unbearable, it made her retch even more.

For a brief moment, she thought he'd listened to her, when the knocking on the door subsided and no argument came. As another wave of nausea took over her, though, Emily heard the door swing open behind her, and found herself unable to argue with him as she felt Scott set something down beside her. Large, gentle hands pulled her hair out of her face, unstuck strands that were plastered to her cheeks with sweat, and saliva, and other unpleasant things, and held it in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. His other hand was warm on her back, rubbing up and down, with just the right amount of pressure to be comforting.

"Hey," he said, softly, and proceeded to soothe her. Emily tried to protest, but it was a weak effort, and only resulted in a sort of sad and nauseated moan. Scott just sat with her, and was altogether entirely sweet as she threw her guts up into her toilet, feeling equal parts embarrassed and glad that he was there.

Emily could count on one hand the number of times she'd had someone there to comfort her through sickness. As a kid, it was whichever employee was taking care of her that week - usually a nanny, and, more often than not, Emily preferred no company to their company. There was nothing wrong with them, but they were strangers, and strangers, in general, aren't very comforting. She could see the twitch of their noses, the purse of their lips, and the disgust with which they treated her as a sick child. It had been better to suffer alone.

When she was little, she would cry and cry and cry for her mother, because that was what you were supposed to do, right? In the movies, little girls always cried for their mothers when they were sad or mad or sick. And, always, unfailingly, pink and loving and beautiful, their mother's came to comfort them. Elizabeth never came to comfort her.

Matthew had held back her hair, sneaking into the girl's bathroom with her, when she'd been incapacitated by morning sickness that seemed to always strike around fourth period, and then again, after they'd been to the clinic and she cried so hard on the bus home that she made herself sick.

Finally, when the retching stopped, Emily sat back on her heels and Scott pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Emily let her, feeling heavy and weak against him. He didn't seem to mind, and he rested his chin on top of her head, stroking the few hairs that had escaped his grasp back from her damp forehead.

"Feel better?"

Shaking, her energy sapped, Emily shook her head. She curled her knees up, folding herself into him, comforted by his closeness and the warmth of his body, and Scott went on soothing her with his gentle touch.

They sat there for a long time, as Emily's heart rate eventually slowed in her chest, and she waited, anxiously, for another bout of sickness that didn't come. Scott didn't rush her, he just waited with her. Eventually, when she was sure her stomach had settled, Emily tapped his arm and he released her, watching her carefully as she pushed herself to sit up. Emily moved slowly, but even so, stars still erupted behind her eyes and she put a hand to her head, woozy. Scott grabbed for the glass of water he'd brought in earlier, and put it into her hand, "Here."

Emily smiled, putting the glass to her lips. The water was cold and delicious, and she longed to gulp it down, but forced herself to take slow, measured sips, terrified to trigger her sensitive stomach again.

"You need to eat something," Scott said, pushing himself to his feet. Emily couldn't think of anything worse, but she knew he was right.

"Alright," Emily said, taking the hand he offered her and getting slowly to her feet, "I'll be out in a minute, I just want to…" she gestured, vaguely, to the sink, and her toothbrush. Scott nodded, and took the empty glass from her hand.

A few minutes later, Emily emerged. Not only had she brushed her teeth and blessed herself with a minty fresh mouth, but she'd braided her hair back from her face and gotten changed. The huge, black hoodie was Scott's, but the leggings were her own. She had hoped that the thick hoodie would stop the shivering that had nothing to do with being cold.

Scott sat on the sofa, a plate of toast and two mugs in front of. Emily sat, heavily, beside him, tucking her leg beneath him and she leaned in, finally, to kiss him.

"Minty," Scott smiled against her lips, and Emily couldn't help but smile, too.

"Hmm," She agreed, then closed her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him in to hug him close, "Thank you, for taking care of me."

"Of course," Scott said, into her hair, "Now, eat."

The toast was a little cold, and a little dry, but that was probably a good thing; the last thing Emily wanted was to trigger her stomach again, even if she knew it wasn't a bug. It felt so sensitive that she thought it wouldn't take much to trigger the sickness, again, so she ate slowly, chewing each bite for a long time. The motion brought back memories of Ferell's chilli, and she had to stop, breathing hard through her nose, to halt the constriction of her throat.

"You okay?" Scott noticed, from beside her, and Emily just nodded, eyes closed, fending off the nausea, again.

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

The question was so unexpected, so inappropriately timed, Scott's tone so full of amusement, that Emily burst into giggles, nausea forgotten. Beside her, he was laughing, too.

It was then, though, that Emily's phone rang. And nothing seemed very funny after that.

It was hard not to feel a sense of deja vu as they sat in the waiting room, precious minutes ticking by as they waited for news or Penelope. Emily kept stealing glances at Reid, wondering if he remembered the last time they were all together in a hospital like this. He probably didn't; he was unconscious by the time they'd arrived, after Hankel, and Hotch had insisted on collecting him himself, unwilling to overwhelm Reid with the whole team. Emily suspected there was a conversation that had taken place that the rest of them weren't privy to, also.

She watched Reid and he was all wide, anxious eyes and twisted fingers, his knees constantly jittering up and down where he sat, unable to keep still in his stress. Emily made a point of sitting beside him, and gave him a smile she hoped was supportive. When another wave of nausea washed over her, however, she had to excuse herself to go to the bathroom.

"You ok?" That was JJ, rapping on the stall door.

Emily, brushing her hair out of her mouth as she spat into the bowl, closed her eyes. "Yeah," She tried to sound reassuring, and failed miserably, "I'm fine." She was lying, she didn't feel fine at all, she felt nauseated as hell. "You?"

JJ was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, Emily could tell she had rested her forehead against the stall door. "Hell of a day." Emily couldn't have said it better herself. She waited a beat, decided she was in the clear, for now, and unlocked the stall door.

"False alarm," She said, with a small smile at JJ, who didn't return it. For a split second, she thought JJ might be here to continue their conversation from the woods, but quickly put the thought out of her mind at the expression on JJ's face. Right now, her relations with Hotch could not be further from JJ's mind. Emily scolded herself for even considering it would be of any importance right now.

The blonde twisted on the tap for her as Emily approached the sink, and Emily muttered her thanks.

"I wish there was something we could do," JJ said, biting her lip as she looked at the door that led back to the waiting room. Emily understood then; JJ hadn't needed the bathroom, at all, she just needed to be anywhere else, to get away from all of that pent up anxiety for just a few minutes. She understood.

Emily looked at her, and she could recognise the fear she found in JJ's face; it was the same expression she'd worn at Hankel's. After drying her hands on a paper towel, Emily reached out to grasp JJ's arm.

"Hey," she said, gently, "She's going to be okay." There was no way to be sure, but she said it anyway, because, she knew, that was what JJ needed right now. The blonde shook her head, though.

"She's-" JJ's voice caught, and she shook her head again, defiantly blinking back tears. " If anybody on this team is supposed to be safe, it's her. In her office, with her…stupid, pretty things." JJ shook her head again, more violently this time, with anger, "She's supposed to be safe."

Emily understood; they put themselves in danger on a daily basis, but they were trained for it. They knew the job they had signed up for. Even JJ carried a firearm; Penelope wasn't even trained to use one. And, possibly the worst part, this awful thing hadn't even happened on the clock; it was a stark reminder that even though they were the ones who caught the bad guys, it didn't make them immune to being victims, too. It was a lesson they were being forced to learn all too often.

Emily never could decide if it was better or worse that Battle wasn't just their run of the mill unsub, but one who had targeted Penelope, specifically. On the one hand, the attack wasn't random. On the other, it opened up a world of possibility; how many people out there were there who had a grudge to bear?

More than they could count.

In the end, it was JJ's bullet that found him. Hotch and Rossi had their weapons trained on him, but it was JJ's shot.

Emily and Morgan were in the car, five minutes out, far from the action.

They wrote up their case reports in a tense, oppressive silence. Morgan finished in record time and then announced that he was heading to Penelope's place. He'd been sleeping there, Emily knew, and she guessed he would continue to do so until Penelope felt safe. Or until he felt safe leaving her. She understood, and she knew Reid did, too; just because Penelope's devil was dead didn't mean her demons were, too. Penelope, like Reid, like JJ, like Morgan, would live for a long time with the consequences of someone else's violence.

It was a short while later that she dropped her file into Hotch's office.

"It just needs your signature, " she said, as she set it down on top of Morgan's manila folder. Hotch glanced at the file, then at her, and in his eyes she saw the same haunted look she had seen in Morgan's, the same one she'd seen the night of Katie Jacob's abduction. It halted her, as she turned to leave, held her in place as much as if he'd grasped her around the wrist. Hotch, though, just turned back to the work in front of him without so much as a word. As she watched, though, she knew he wasn't reading what was in front of him.

His mouth was set into a hard line. It was an expression that didn't invite conversation, rather discouraged it absolutely, but Emily found that she couldn't just leave. Her feet stayed planted on the thin, blue carpet.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She heard herself ask in a quiet, gentle tone. Not probing, offering. At first, she thought he might ignore her entirely, he didn't so much as look up, but then, after a few heartbeats, he set down the pen he hadn't put to paper since she entered the room.

With slow movements, as though approaching an animal that might startle easily, Emily stepped towards his desk, and sank into the chair opposite. She leaned back against it's plush back, letting him know without words that she would wait, that if he needed to talk, she would listen.

"This job," Hotch shook his head, and in his voice she heard all of the worry, all of the anxiety that she had been feeling. All of the emotions he had to hide from his team, everything he had to stow away until the end of the case, until after every case.

By now, Emily had seen them all lose it at least once; she'd seen anger on Morgan's face as he held an unsub at gunpoint, seen tears in JJ's eyes when she had to give bad news to a family. She, too, had lost it occasionally, like with Susan Jacobs. She'd really lost it, then. But Hotch…he'd never lost it. He couldn't afford to. It was with a sudden, blinding clarity that she realised he kept it together so that the rest of them could fall apart when they needed to. His words, though, faltered now, and Emily saw the weight of the job in the lines on his face as he rubbed at tired eyes with the pads of his fingers.

"I know," Emily said, well aware that she was toeing the line they'd carefully drawn between the two of them, "That this is the kind of job you can't take home."

He looked at her then, and she knew that he, too, had his eyes on that line. Emily shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under that stare, and had to drop her eyes.

"I can't imagine you'd want to burden Haley with any of this," Everytime she spoke Haley's name, it tasted just like it had that first time; so sweet it made her sick to her stomach. She hoped that he knew, then, that she was firmly planted on her side of the line; the side where they were friends and nothing more.

"No," Hotch conceded, "She doesn't have the, uh, constitution," a slight, fond smile that made Emily's stomach twinge playing around his lips, "for this sort of thing."

No, she wouldn't. Haley was soft and sweet and gentle, Emily knew that from what little she'd seen of her. She was everything that someone who did their job would want to go home to. She was, Emily presumed, an excellent escape from their world, simply by being so separated from it.

"Takes a special sort of person," she returned his smile, shrugging her shoulders.

Haley was the one he went home to, she was his escape, but she could never be a part of this world, of his world, not in the way that Emily was. Just as Emily could never be a part of his other world, his easy, domestic, safe world. She didn't belong to that world any more than he did.

"I don't like when one of my team is hurt," Hotch admitted, all humour disappearing from his face as his eyes unfocused, and Emily knew he was somewhere else. At Penelope's bedside, or watching JJ pull that trigger. He was thinking about what this job had demanded of JJ today, what it demanded of them all, eventually. "I don't like when I can't keep people safe."

It was, she realised, just like Reid, just like when she'd told him he wasn't responsible for Reid, that he was a grown man. He'd fought her then, too, and she knew there was no point in repeating herself now. Besides, the closer she became with the rest of the team, the more she understood his desire to protect them, and the slight smile remained on her face when she said,

"They're just as determined to protect you, you know."

Grimly, Hotch nodded, "unfortunately, yes, I do."

If JJ was at all traumatised by having to take the shot that killed Battle, the way that Hotch worried she was, then she didn't show it. It was business as usual at the BAU over the next few weeks, with the exception of Penelope being absent.

"She tried to insist that she can do her job from home," Hotch told Emily, standing in the BAU's kitchen the following week. Emily smiled into her coffee, emptying a packet of Splenda into it and stirring it in with her milk.

"Of course she did," she ran the tap, rinsing off the teaspoon, "and what did you say to her?"

"I told her that if I so much as see her log onto the system, I'll fire her on the spot." His face was stern, but his words played at humour, and Emily grinned as she put her mug to her lips and took a tiny sip of her hot brew.

"As if she couldn't get online without you knowing," she teased, with a laugh. Hotch looked at the smile on her face, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, well, I was hoping the threat would be deterrent enough."

In the end, it was easier than Emily had thought it would be, to be his friend.

Her tenure on the team had begun with such intensity and confusion that the absence of their relationship on top of that was strange. Having Scott around was…helpful.

Emily wasn't angry with Hotch anymore. Gradually, as time passed, the lie faded into a memory. A memory that, whenever it surfaced, hurt like hell, but she could keep it at bay most of the time. Her anger had all but left her. Nor did her stomach twist anymore, each time he entered a room. She eventually stopped picturing him laying, half-dressed, on her bed. Those images were replaced by Scott. When she was lonely, now it was Scott she called. It was Scott who came over with chinese food whenever she got back from a case, and lay on her couch, Emily's head resting on his chest, to watch cheesy game shows and reruns of old western movies. And it was only when Scott booked them a dinner, and she was halfway getting dressed up for it, that she realised they'd never done that, she and Hotch, and she'd never so much as questioned it. No, she'd put his subtlety down to their being coworkers, and she'd even found it exciting. It had never crossed her mind that he might have another agenda. Now, though, of course it made complete sense; he wasn't hiding them from the team, but from Haley.

Scott liked to show her off, liked to take her to dinner every chance he got, and he practically glowed in her presence. He made it obvious, to Emily and everyone around them, just how proud he was to be with her. It was nice to feel special. Until Scott took her to dinner, Emily didn't realise just how much had been missing between her and Hotch. They'd barely left her apartment, and, at the time, that hadn't even seemed strange to her.

It was one such Saturday, a few months after Penelope's surgery, that her worlds collided.

"This is amazing," Emly grinned across the table, watching Scott swirl pasta with his fork. He shook his head, as though he couldn't quite believe just how good the food was. "Is yours good?"

Scott's pasta was a tomato-mascarpone sauce, Emily's was simpler. Cacio e pepe, cheese and pepper, her favourite Italian dish. It was her go-to, because it was almost impossible to get it wrong. Having spent several of her formative years in Rome, Emily had acquired an unavoidable snobbery when it came to Italian food. The dish in front of her, however, was as close to perfectly authentic as she'd eaten in a long time.

"Here," she smiled, swirling her spaghetti and offering her fork across the table. Scott leaned in to taste it, and closed his eyes, in exaggerated ecstasy.

"My god," he groaned, and Emily laughed. Her laughter faded, though, the smile quickly slid from her face, and she swallowed hard as her mouth went dry, "How did you find this place, babe?"

"A coworker recommended it," she said, her suddenly small voice alerting Scott, who looked at her, his eyebrows narrowing in confusion.
Emily hadn't thought twice about suggesting Giorni's for dinner, this evening. Rossi had mentioned it in the week, commending it as the most authentic of authentic Italian. He knew she was as particular as he was. Emily knew, now, that he hadn't exaggerated how good this place was, but she also knew that she hadn't been the only one paying attention to that conversation.

Scott followed her eyes, glanced over his shoulder.

Emily saw the scene through his eyes, the way Hotch was staring at her, his eyes only slightly wider than normal, but wide enough that she knew he hadn't planned this; he was as shocked as she was. To anyone else, to Scott, his face would be impassable.

It might have been fine, Emily could have brushed the moment off, gone back to her date with Scott and forced all thoughts of Aaron from her mind, if the maitre'd wasn't leading the couple in their direction. Scott turned back to her and his brows were knitted together, but Emily gave him the slightest shake of her head just as Haley reached their table. It was as close to an apology as she could manage in the moment.

Haley's blue eyes flickered to Emily, who looked down at her plate, then away, then back again, and Emily knew she was trying to place her face. Haley knew she was familiar, but couldn't place her. Scott, obviously, had recognised Hotch, and Emily knew there was no point in trying to pretend this wasn't happening. No, it would be much better to take charge of it.

"Hotch," she called out, as though only just noticing him, and she gave a slight wave that she hoped came across as relaxed and friendly, not panicked and uncomfortable, which was what she was really feeling. There it was, again, that little flare of panic in Hotch's eyes.

"Emily," it was amazing, really, that he hadn't gone into professional acting. "You just had to try Rossi's favourite restaurant, too, huh?"

"Emily," Haley spoke, almost over her husband, "That's where I recognise you from!" She was beaming, and Emily had no choice but to smile back at her, her stomach churning the entire time. Across from her, she saw Scott's look between the three of them, and knew he was putting the pieces together.

"Hi." she knew she was smiling with too many teeth, but she couldn't help it, "Date night, huh?"

"For you, too, it looks like," Haley took the seat offered to her by the maitre'd, parallel to Scott. She leaned across, offering her hand to him. Scott took it with a charming smile. In the brief moment that their hands met, Emily and Hotch stared at each other, as though expecting a bomb to go off when their hands connected.

"Scott," and Emily had to give him credit; he was smooth as butter as he smiled and shook Haley's hand. She introduced herself, beaming at Scott in a way that Emily now knew was involuntary; it was simply the reaction Scott unconsciously prompted from women.

"Haley," she introduced herself, and then looked expectantly at Hotch. Emily's eyes stayed on Haley a moment longer, genuine fear making her hesitate before turning her eyes onto him.

They'd all worked their way to a good place. She and Scott were having so much fun together, she and Hotch were managing, somehow, to act as though they hadn't seen each other naked, and, as far as she knew, because she made a point not to ask and knew Hotch made a point not to discuss it, Hotch and Haley were getting on better than ever. So Emily was completely shocked by the hostility on Hotch's face as he looked at Scott. His eyes were so cold, like steel but darker, deeper. He blinked, though, and then it was gone, and Emily was left wondering if she'd imagined it, because neither Scott nor Haley reacted.

"Aaron," she watched, in silent horror, as Hotch and Scott clasped hands, and thought she could have fallen through the Earth right there and then, out of sheer panic and awkwardness. She didn't, though, and the muscles in her cheeks began to ache from smiling. Scott nodded, and then Hotch was sliding into his seat, and suddenly the meal Emily loved so much was completely unappetising.

"What's good, here?" Haley was asking, as she shrugged off her coat, entirely oblivious to the three people around her, cringing away from the situation they'd found themselves in.

"The amatricana bucatini is great," Scott said.

"Amatriciana," Emily corrected his pronunciation, too quickly, and without thinking, and then felt three sets of eyes on her as she stared down into her pasta for a second too long. She lifted her face, smiling, "Habit, I'm sorry babe." And did she imagine the way Hotch's jaw jumped, when she called Scott that? Probably.

Dinner, which was supposed to be a quiet and intimate affair with Scott, turned into a social affair; Haley kept trying to strike conversation between the four of them. Being the only one out of the loop meant that she saw no issue with their situation; she seemed delighted, in fact, by their company, amused, almost, by the chance encounter. Emily spent the whole meal unfairly cursing David Rossi.

She and Scott both made up excuses about having dessert plans elsewhere; Scott came up with a lie about showing Emily his favourite gelato place.

"I hope it'll live up to her Italian standards," He said, with a grin that was convincing enough for Haley, and, perhaps, Hotch, too, who had spent the whole meal sneaking glances at Emily. She knew he was wondering just how much Scott knew. Too much, he knew, too much for Hotch to keep looking at her like that.

Haley laughed along with Scott's joke, and Hotch smiled, a little too tightly. Emily knew he was as desperate for them to disappear as she was, and it was with relief that she stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair just as Haley and Hotch's dinner arrived.

"Enjoy the bucatini," She told Haley, with a polite smile, as she stepped out from behind the table. She met Hotch's eye, for the first time since he'd walked into the restaurant, and glanced at the plate in front of him, "Cacio e pepe." The italian rolled off of her tongue, out of her suddenly dry mouth.

"It's my favourite," he nodded, and she couldn't help but close her eyes, just for a second. Scott turned away and Haley looked down at her meal, and for a moment it was just the two of them. Then she sighed, turning away from him with a shake of her head.

"Of course it is."