Hello. I'm back. I won't say much here, but, as usual, there will be some sort of explanation at the end.

Again, my English sucks, grammar, spelling, blah, blah, blah… you know the drill.

*Fist up in the air* Prentiss and JJ must stay! Girl Power, dude.

The Cure rocks. Random thought, yes, but pertinent if you live in my head.

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

Why had it taken Mick so long after San Francisco to call her? Was it the first call? Had Emily been really surprised by the call? Or just embarrassed because JJ had seen the name on the screen? Had they already gone out and things had been… not so good? Was the chemistry that JJ had seen between them just the product of Emily feeling shook up by her close call? Had it all been a knight in a shiny armor and damsel in distress thing? Or was she seeing him and keeping it under wraps? The last one seemed possible. Prentiss hadn't been in a serious relationship since… well, never, had she? They knew she had had a long term relationship back in Chicago, but since her arrival at Quantico, at the BAU, there had only been a series of three to five dates per guy and some one night stands. And the last one they had known of had been… at least a year ago. Wow, JJ and Garcia thought. Anyway, if that was the case, Prentiss taking it slow, keeping it secret made sense.

Thought they were quiet, being in the same room made it pretty hard not to hear them, even when he was making a conscious effort. They whispered and theorized with the same interest they would have discussed a suspect's actions and he was, rightfully or not, drawn by the conversation. Experienced as they were, none of them was actually a profiler. They were close to her, true. They could have inside information. But, as he deducted from their theories, they didn't. In fact, he had more insight with much less concrete data.

They hadn't even thought about her humor or her new wardrobe, things that, he would have said, women were prone to notice. Nor had they realized her cell phone guarding. He was certain now that it was meant to avoid prying eyes and uncomfortable questions in case he called or texted, but not necessarily because she was waiting for a call; she just knew he would. And, having the team believing she and Rawson had slept together, a simple call could, as proven, start a snow-ball of rumors and/or conjectures. Anyway, they were, as he had already determined but the ladies just now began to consider, still in touch.

What he ignored, and apparently so did JJ and Garcia, was in what capacity Prentiss and Rawson were still in touch. Friendship? Relationship? In between? And then it hit him. Had he been replaced? Was she having just for tonight nights with Mick now? Of all the possibilities that had occurred to him, from the entire spectrum that spread from innocent camaraderie to a lustful, love filled relationship, this new one really broke him. He could bare her love for another man. He could bare her interest in another man or her attraction towards another man. But being replaced…

In his mind, for a reason unknown to him, the twisted relationship they had maintained was theirs. They weren't normal, they weren't a regular couple. They weren't even a regular pair of lovers. But their complicated and yet very simple –while it lasted- relationship was unique. It was their creation. It had evolved naturally between them. It was private and theirs. Something like theirs, that kind of deep and casual, and yet constant relationship –which he no longer considered an affair- shouldn't be had with other people. A common relationship, he could handle. He wouldn't be pleased, true, but at least he would know he was still special to her.

He would have thought that the idea of not being special would bring a new flood of rage. That he would be so pissed he wouldn't be able to conceal it. No. This idea simply broke him.

He kept his cool, as Morgan would say. In fact, his grim facial rictus remained the same as she entered the room smiling, cell in hand, followed by Reid.

Another new dress, he thought. Shorter. He hadn't seen her thighs, even those three inches exposed now, for over a month. He felt the predictable need to pose his hand there, stroke her slightly, then move to the inside and end up on the back, barely caressing the soft skin on that spot that made her sigh. An intimate caress, innocent rather than passionate. But, mostly, he just wanted to pour her a freshly brewed cup coffee when she came down the stairs, sleepy but smiley faced, wearing a tank top and shorts.

But again, work. A case, a murderer, a frightened community. They could sleep on the plane, he said, as they wrapped the meeting up. He was, he had to admit, slightly glad this was the second weekend in a row that they were out on a case. While at work, she couldn't go out. Or stay home with Mick, if that was what was going on.

Almost caught. She had cursed herself for leaving her cell unattended for five seconds. JJ had seen the name and the questions had started immediately. Hadn't he been good in bed? He looked like he was goooood in bed, JJ had said. But she had done a good job deflecting the questions and dilating her answers.

A couple of things JJ said were true, though. For instance, Mick was a hot dude, with a sexy accent, a badge and a gun. He was just her type. Granted, it was also JJ's type, if one guided oneself by her choice of a husband. Maybe JJ's insistence was due to her own need to have a by proxy thrill. From that point, Prentiss went to her initial perception of JJ's relationship with Hotch. She had been almost sure there was something there. JJ was his type. Blond, pretty, petite, amiable. Yes, he was married and neither of them seemed to be the kind of people that did adultery, but there was something there, even if platonic. She had later realized that they were more like siblings, that the connection between Hotch and JJ was that of a profound care and understanding, of categorical, unbreakable trust. And she had to admit that, even when at the beginning of them that connection had made her somehow uncomfortable –why, damn? JJ was with Will and pregnant at the moment- now she was glad there was such a person for Hotch.

Anyway, that was sidetracking. The thing was that she had avoided giving any direct answer and she had even made a great job by saying she might call Mick. It opened the door to bring her friendship with him out in the open. Eventually she could say that they hadn't liked each other that way, but that they really hit it off as friends. He could then tag along when the team went out and, this would be very relieving, she wouldn't have to worry about calls or lie about what she had done during the weekend.

Yes, all in all, JJ knowing about the call was a good thing, she thought as she walked into the conference room.

Technically, the hours they spent sleeping during a flight weren't working hours, so he didn't feel terribly guilty for staring at her. God, this woman. Wouldn't she be more comfortable with her legs up on his lap? Wouldn't she be far more comfortable if they shared a seat and they both rested their legs on the one she was currently occupying? He would.

Of course he did nothing of that sort -he never would- and he even felt stupid having those thoughts more fitted of a teen boy, but they kick started his brain. Yes, it was impossible, they weren't possible and she might not be interested. She might think they had been nothing. Ok, those were the cons. He knew the cons. He had used them as reasons to pretend they didn't need to talk before that last night, and as motives not to go to her after it.

And yet… it had been a year and a half of their… thing, relationship, affair, fling, he no longer had a name for it. And she had been so… God damn perfect. He had said that already. But she had been there, with him. She had come back for a year and a half. Damn.

She stirred in her sleep and he quickly closed his eyes, just in case she opened hers. He heard a sigh and was tempted to sit up straight and ask her if she was fine. Predictably, he did nothing.

As he fell asleep, his brain kept running the facts, the pros and the cons. And he came up with nothing. So he tapped on his unlimited fountain of anger once again and found some sort of comfort in the familiar feeling. Pathetic.

He took the beer, closed the fridge, tossed the cap and sipped his drink. He strolled to the couch, stretched his arms and legs and glanced around for the remote. He had become quite comfortable around her house, he realized, as he hit play and relaxed onto the couch. They spend most of their time together there. Granted, her place was bigger than his and it was fully furnished. Anyway, he was glad she was at ease with him at her place.

There was a knock on the door that startled him, he might have drifted off. He looked around, but she wasn't down yet. He stood up, searched his pockets for money and, before he opened the door, he scrubbed his face with an open hand.

Mick wasn't expecting it. He wasn't expecting him and it took him a second or two to understand what was happening. It wasn't the pizza boy delivering the food he had assumed Emily had ordered. It was a very serious Agent Hotchner. A, by now, quite angry Agent Hotchner.

Without moving, Mick lifted his chin a bit, blinked slowly, lazily, and couldn't repress the smile that tugged at his lips. This was going to be fun. Especially since laser beams flew out of Hotch's eyes right into his.

"Agent Hotchner," he said, strolling the words and thickening his accent, before finally leaving enough space for him to enter, "come on in."

Hotch's body had gone rigid and he needed an instant to order his legs to move while he tried to keep his fists from flying towards Rawson's face. But he eventually managed and walked in.

It had to be killing him, Mick thought, seeing him there, half drank bottle of beer on the coffee table, music playing softly in the background, lights dimmed, acting as if it was his place. It had to be killing him. Good. He deserved it.

Hotch stopped at a random point and peeked around. He took it all in. The beer, the lights, the music. Mick's demeanor, which was the worst of it all. But, damn it, he had to keep it under control.

Mick walk by him and grabbed his bottle. He turned and smiled at him, "Why don't you have a sit? May I offer you a drink?" He asked knowing that it was poking him with a heated iron spike.

Unclenching his jaw, Hotch hissed his reply, "I prefer to stand, thank you." His eyes were piercing Rawson's, trying to interpret his behavior, to read his thoughts. Because if the roles were flipped, he wouldn't have asked him in, and he certainly wouldn't be smiling nor drinking a beer. He would have asked the idiot that came knocking on her door to please step out of the building so they could settled thing like men. God, he was a caveman when it came to Prentiss. Correction, he had caveman's impulses, but he could keep a hold on them.

God, this guy was ready to kick his butt. Good, he thought as his grin grew devilish. Emily was worth the fight, he knew it. It was good to see that Hotchner had realized it too, even when late.

"Emily is taking a shower," he said, "Do you want me to go get her?" Though it was true, he knew the visual he was providing was at the very least offending.

Hotch didn't answer, partially because he didn't know how. Mick seemed calmed, as if nothing was at stake. His complete opposite. But if nothing was at stake, if Mick was not afraid of losing anything, there were two options. There was nothing to lose or he knew he wasn't going to lose it. And regardless which option was real, he wanted to beat the crap out of him.

He was thoroughly enjoying it. Agent Aaron Hotchner, known by his professionalism, his stern behavior, his absolute control over every situation was completely burning inside. Good. He deserved that too. He deserved to squirm for being such a complete spineless idiot.

"Well, she should be down in a second anyway," Mick finally said.

He drank the remains of his beer, disposed of the bottle. It was time to let things happen. Before Hotch's flamed eyes, he strolled towards him. He stopped a few inches away from him, glanced up, to the top of the stairs and something twitched deep inside him. But things were as they were, and all he could do was to stare back at Hotch and match his madman's eyes.

He wanted to say you hurt her and you'll be answering to me, or you won't know what hit you, which was appropriate given he was a sniper, or even I don't care if they toss me off the Bureau, I'll kick your ass. But he was not that kind of a man. As much as he would like to, he did not interfered in his friends' lives. So he blinked, the natural affable light shone in his eyes again, though there was still something very dark behind it, and he simply muttered, "Don't be an idiot."

Before Hotch could even process his words, he sauntered away and was out the door. Hotch hated the man even more, for being altruistic and having the class he couldn't have mustered up.

Hotch was left standing still, the object of his anger gone, and he went back to the state of mind in which he was when he arrived at her door. He had nothing new to tell her. He knew that, no matter what he said or how, odds were against him and the leap he was about to take could very well end up with him crashing against the ground. But he couldn't leave now. He couldn't chicken out and go because Rawson had seen him.

He began to bash himself for everything. For the first night, the last and all the nights in between. For letting a month pass by. For assuming things in both directions. And finally for standing there, in the middle of her living room without knowing what the hell he was going to do.

Here comes my explanation. This was going to be the last chapter, I thought I would be able to get it all written, but I wasn't. So… one more to go. Yes, you hate me and this is taking forever and it wasn't supposed to and what's the point of reading if it is stretching for, god, over a month and this motherfucker is even more descriptive than Garcia Marquez. Believe me, I'm sick of myself too. But the next one IS the end.

I won't threat you with the usual if you don't review I won't post again because I want to finish this story regardless of how many reviews I get. However, I would be very happy if you do review.

See you.

allthatisevil.