Authors' note: so, this story is coming to an end. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm looking forward to more reviews. Thanks for all those who followed and commented the story.

Chapter 18: Drunken confessions

Emily watched as the barman handed over a bottle of bourbon to Morgan, and the tiny glasses began to be filled. After this tiresome day, some team time was needed. Derek seemed an expert in filling a row of glasses without spilling any drop, the brunette noted as her eyes were set on the transparent alcohol. A warm hand came to rest on her back, and she turned to find JJ staring at her, with tears in her eyes.

"I said 'no crying'." Emily said with a smile, keeping her voice low so as not to attract all their coworkers' attention. The blonde swallowed her sadness and gladly accepted the shot Morgan offered her.

Emily looked around the table as they all raised their glasses. Next to JJ was seated Reid, whose face did not betray any emotion. The doctor's eyes were wandering over the group until they fell upon the glass he was holding, and he grimaced at the thought of having to ingurgitate the strong beverage. Derek was showing a brave face and had even greeted the group with a few jokes to lighten up the mood. On Emily's right were Rossi, Garcia and Hotch, all wearing quite neutral faces although you could guess the tears in the technician's eyes, behind her thick glasses. If the older agent hadn't been seated in-between, Emily would have pinched her female friend to get her mind off today's events.

Mimicking her coworkers, Emily approached the glass from her lips and threw her head backwards as the liquid burned her throat. Flashes of the cemetery invaded her mind. With the family's agreement, Emily had chosen to attend the funeral, only from a discreet spot. She had stopped a few feet behind the gathered group, and had made no move towards the Mayers. She only felt the need to be present. To her great surprise, Aaron Hotchner and the rest of the team had joined her just before the ceremony, standing silently at her side as she watched the family members each put a rose onto the coffin. She had blinked away the tears until Hotch's warm hand had taken hold of her elbow and she couldn't suppress her sorrow anymore. No one turned to comfort her, and she was glad for that. Her coworkers knew that she needed her privacy, and their mere presence already showed her all the support they were willing to give. Emily shook these thoughts away and concentrated back on the present time, and the next shot that was being poured.

"You, my darling, need a long and tiring dance." Emily had not even noticed that Morgan had sneaked behind her.

"Thanks for the kind offer, but what I need for now is another one of these glasses." Emily replied, gulping her second shot in one long mouthful.

Derek shot a look that was half-worried and half-amused to the rest of the group, and patted gently Emily's back.

"If this girl keeps up that rate, she'll need someone to drive her home."

He was the only one to notice Hotch's understanding nod, as he silently volunteered for the job. However his discreet offer did not go unnoticed, as Derek replied.

"Okay, Boss man has things in hands. So I am heading to the dance floor, after me…" Taking his seductive voice, he looked more particularly at Penelope, who was sipping at her cocktail. She had been the only one to refuse the alcohol contest. The others' eyes were torn between Hotch, who still looked as neutral as ever, and Emily, who did not glare at anyone. This was all but usual.

JJ's eyes lingered over her two colleagues dancing in the middle of the crowd, and she suppressed a laughter at the sight of the numerous beautiful women surrounding Derek, and the murderous glances that Penelope was sending his way. But her temporary role was to keep company to the grieving Emily, she decided, shifting her attention back to the brunette.

"Easy with that." She heard Rossi whisper as Emily was pouring herself another shot.

"I know what I am doing, Dave."

"I'm just saying that, if you want to keep up a little longer with the rest of us, you should slow down."

Hotch was eyeing the exchange closely although he did not say a word. When Emily had put the bottle back into the center of the table, Aaron Hotchner grabbed it and refilled his glass as well.

"Okay, I'm giving up!" Rossi stated, raising both hands in defeat. JJ chuckled while Reid seemed still a bit lost for words, not registering everything that was going on.

"Calm down, Dave. I'm done. Remember, I volunteered to drive." Hotch said with his usual boss-tone as he emptied the glass and smashed it back onto the table.

They were interrupted as Garcia's voice echoed from the dance floor.

"JJ, I need back up!" The blonde chuckled as she noticed that the analyst was losing against the troop of young women. She almost jumped off from her stool and put a firm hand on Emily's forearm. The look on her face was pleading and, although Emily's mind was a million miles away, she silently agreed to join her teammates on the dance floor. A strange way to grieve, but then, nothing was usual about this little group, whose lives turned around death and pain. The three men left around the table watched them walk away. JJ was wearing a classical white blouse and black trousers, while Emily's dress was knee-length and underlining her beautiful curves. She moved around freely although it was clear that she was not enjoying any moment of it. The alcohol made the process a lot easier.

"How do you think she is holding on?" Rossi turned to Hotch, who just shrugged without taking his eyes off the brunette.

"Dave, I don't have the monopoly of her confidence. Why is everyone asking me that?" His harsh reaction somehow startled his friend, who looked at Reid with surprise.

"Alright. Keep it to yourself. But so that you know, we all are worried about her."

Hotch did not move but his eyes narrowed at the comment. They were interrupted in their thoughts as Emily's angry voice came from the dancing corner.

Emily had been trying awfully hard to set her mind on moving her legs and arms. It took all her concentration to dance somewhat in rhythm. She had never been a very good dancer, but the concussion and the fact that she was not listening to the music didn't make things easier. She turned around as she felt that someone was brushing against her back. The smile the unknown man was directing at her did not let space for any misunderstanding. He was flirting, and she did not like that at all. After the second time his hand came in contact with some part of her anatomy, Emily prepared to turn around and snap. But before she had the time to follow her plan, she felt the man's hand brushing against her neck. In a split second, she was back in Eddy Schrader's kitchen, as his brother was smashing his gun onto the back of her skull to knock her off. It was not so much the pain that sent Emily over the edge – the bruising had now partially gone – but the mere contact made her shiver. She felt hot at once, way too hot.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" The anger she had been containing for the past days came out at full force, and the man shot her a despising look.

JJ and Derek's eyes followed the brunette as she marched off the dance floor, heading towards the exit without even stopping at the team's table. Garcia tugged her friend's sleeve repeatedly until he gave in and followed. But by the time he had tackled the troop of dancing women and reached the table where the other men were still seated, Hotch had already headed after his agent. Maybe it was for the best, Derek decided as she glanced back at the two blonde women, who had stopped dancing. If someone could get through to Emily, it was Aaron Hotchner.

When Aaron walked into the dim street light, he looked for a few seconds through the crowd of smokers, who had gathered on both sides of the main entrance for their drug. Emily wasn't one of them, but he soon saw her slim silhouette walk away. Either she had taken up a quick pace or Aaron had taken too much time pushing people out of the way, because he had to jog to get to Emily's level.

"Hey…" Hotch said, grabbing her forearm. Emily registered his presence although she did not stop nor slow down.

"Sorry about the outburst. I just needed some air."

"Don't worry. I'm pretty sure Morgan is currently kicking his ass. We can take a walk if you want."

"That's what I'm already doing, Hotch."

"Right… I meant I can walk with you, if you don't mind."

"I suppose you won't let me go alone even if I want to."

Hotch did not answer but his eyes narrowed. She was right though – with the few shots she had had already and the fact that she was unarmed, he would never let her walk on her own.

"What…?" he began, not knowing how to put the sentence.

"I had a flash back."

"Okay."

They passed by an empty bench and Hotch thought of suggesting a stop-over, but the brunette just kept walking. Before he could answer anything, Hotch's phone rang hysterically in his trouser pocket. He didn't want to interrupt, but the others would probably come after them if he didn't give them some kind of reassurance.

"Hotchner."

"Where are you?" Rossi's voice came through, a little less calm than usual.

"I… I think I'll bring Prentiss home."

"Your car keys are here – along with your wallet and jacket. Same for Emily."

"Crap." At the reaction, Emily turned slightly, thinking maybe they had to get back to work.

"We'll be back in a moment, then." Hotch finally said before hanging up. He didn't really look forward to getting back to this crowded and noisy bar, but they would hardly manage to walk back the ten miles to either one of their apartments, let alone get in without a key.

"It's okay, Hotch. We can go back." Emily said. From the looks in her eyes, she seemed to have regained some composure.

"Do you want to tell me about the flash back?" he offered, stopping in the middle of the pavement.

"Not really. It's just… been a long day." Hotch made a move forward though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to wrap an arm around her, pull her into a hug or just pat her on the shoulder. Whatever would not feel inappropriate for a supervisor and his agent.

"If you are going to hug me, at least give me some kind of warning, or I might very likely pull out my gun."

"You don't have your gun." He smirked.

"Well I can do a lot of harm with my bare hands." Her tired smile gave him more strength. He couldn't believe how quickly Emily Prentiss could turn her attitude around and go from the crumbling victim to the tough FBI agent.

"Good to know. Would you accept if I gave you some warning?"

"They are not coming after us, are they?" she looked around, worried that they might misunderstand the situation.

"No, they kept our belongings to make sure we wouldn't run away."

"Okay then. It's not like these past days haven't already been kind of strange."

Refraining a smile at her sarcasm, Hotch carefully leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling deeply as he felt Emily relax in his grasp. Why they had become so used to these all but professional gestures, neither of them knew. Some underlying reasons were not hard to guess: Hotch was reliving his personal failures and trying to do with the women – woman – he cared about what he hadn't be able to do with Haley, that is offer protection and comfort. As for Emily, she had no one to turn to really. Her mother had known about the 'incident' but had not even travelled over. And if she already had lost her mask of neutrality in front of Hotch, she was not about to let the others through.

"How did it go with Joan and Peter Mayers, by the way?" If Emily's head had not been pressed against her superior's chest, she would have shaken her head to erase the memories. The sight of Joan in tears and the numerous pictures of a happy Lizzie they had shown her couldn't leave her mind and Emily felt tears well up in her eyes anew.

"She apologized."

"Good. She had no reason to do what she did." Emily pulled away from her supervisor, her eyes still locking with his.

"She was grieving."

"So are you." In some ways, Hotch was so much like Reid. You could never win a verbal battle with him. Plus, Emily's mind was not at rhetorical jousts for now.

"Do you want to see a picture?" she asked all of a sudden.

"Sure." Hotch raised an eyebrow. So Joan had gone from slapping Emily to share her daughter's life with her. The picture the brunette held out represented a young Lizzie – Hotch guessed she couldn't be more than ten. It was simple but beautiful.

"She looks so much like you." He couldn't help saying aloud, although he immediately regretted his comment when he saw the sadness invading his friend anew.

"It's hard to bear that the only memory I will keep of her is her birth – and her death." A shiver ran through Emily's body.

"You should try it anew, you know." It was probably not the best time to approach the subject, neither was it appropriate for the supervisor he was, but he had been willing to say this for the past days.

"What?"

"A child." Emily raised an eyebrow, quickly tucking the picture back into her pocket.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Shouldn't I first find a father for that?"

"I'm just saying." Hotch shrugged. He would have suggested that there were many ways to do this nowadays, and that a proper father was no more needed if she really wanted a child, but he stopped himself. This really would be inappropriate.

"You're drunk, Hotch."

"What?" He almost burst in laughter at the sudden assumption.

"You wouldn't be suggesting such things if you were sober."

"Says the woman who downed four shots in a row. Whatever." He smirked at her before looking backwards, thinking they should probably head back before their teammates would declare them MIA.

"Come on, let's go back. I want to see if Morgan really kicked the other guy's ass." Hotch was a little taken aback when she slid an arm under his own. Maybe she was cold, he decided, patting the hand that was resting on his forearm in a very gentlemanlike way. Glancing sideways, Hotch could tell that something was fighting to get off his agent's lips, although she still was not decided to spill it. He guessed that it was a 'thank you', and squeezed her hand as a silent answer. Despite the grief and exhaustion in her features, Emily Prentiss looked beautiful tonight, as her eyes were lost somewhere in the distance. She was right, maybe he was a little drunk, to have such bizarre thoughts about his agent, he decided, tearing his eyes away from the brunette.

The end.