When he's supposed to be off on leave after New York, she catches him in the parking lot with an arm full of files and a hand pressed to his head. She catches up with him at a jog, turns him with a hand at his elbow. "Hey."
She does something to his heart when she catches him off guard like that. Even though he's still almost numb from Kate and his head is pounding, his ear ringing, he notices how wide and dark her eyes are, the concern all over her face, the way she ran to catch up with him rather than yell. He swallows, reroutes his brain. "Prentiss," he replies.
"How are you feeling?" she asks, looking him over, lingering longer on the files than the cuts on his face. He says something noncommittal, convincing neither of them. She holds up her car keys. "Let me drive you home."
He shakes his head, starts to protest. "I'm f-"
"Hotch," she says flatly, an eyebrow raised. He does not look anywhere near fine. "Come on. You're not supposed to be driving. It's no problem."
He holds her gaze for a few seconds before figuring he can't win this one. In her car, she asks where they're going, and his heart sinks a little. He knows he should have his own place by now, knows she's expecting the address of an actual apartment, and her concern over his need to pick up these files is not going to go away when she finds out he's planning to read them in a hotel room… When he's silent too long, she adds, "I'm sorry, I don't know where you…"
"You can drop me off downtown," he says, in his best 'and that's the end of that' voice.
"Or I could drop you off at your front door," she replies, starting the car.
"You don't have to -"
"I know."
Staring straight out of the windscreen even when he can feel her watching him, he gives her the name of the hotel. She puffs out a breath, and he shakes his head. "I just haven't got around to apartment hunting."
She turns the engine back off and turns to him, looks over his profile. His gaze is fixed straight forward, his brow creased, his lips pressed tightly together. Hands on his lap, gripping casefiles like a lifeline. She thinks of her hands pressed to wounds she knows will be fatal, blood pouring through her fingers no matter how hard she tries, of trying to scrub it out from under her nails, bleach it out of her sleeves. Feeling tears leak onto crisp hotel pillowcases and knowing her successes will never really cancel out her failures. It's out of her mouth before she's decided to say it. "Come home with me."
That breaks his focus. He turns to her, eyebrows raised. He'd reject the idea flat out, tell her it's not appropriate, his room is fine, except the pity he expected to find in her face is not there. Her expression is entirely matter of fact, a note of determination, maybe. The exact same Emily Prentiss who introduced herself in his office, who resigned her post in front of Strauss and told him he belonged in the BAU.
She sees him reading her and lets him. After a few seconds, she adds, "I have a spare room."
He waits a few more seconds, trying to pick apart his reasoning in his head. He wants to tell her yes. Kate is there every time he blinks, bleeding out and shivering and fading, and if he's totally honest he doesn't want to spend another night alone in a room that means nothing to him but the absence of Haley. He wonders if he'd accept if somebody else offered, if her eyes didn't crack him open, if this really is inappropriate…
"Hotch."
"Okay."