She's not sure how she ends up at Rossi's, exactly. It was a bad case, a really bad one, the kind that gets under the whole team's skin and sits there like poison. The plane journey home is over four hours of near silence, and when they get back to the BAU everyone goes their separate ways – Reid home to his apartment to lose himself in foreign books or Doctor Who DVDs, Morgan home with Garcia to watch a movie, JJ home to Will and Henry, already on the phone to them when she gets in the elevator. Hotch and Rossi head for their offices, and Emily sits at her desk, shuffles papers around for a while then just sits there, staring at the blank screen. She'll go home in an hour, she tells herself. She just needs time.

She tunes out for a while, not quite compartmentalising and not quite thinking either, and then Rossi's voice breaks through her silence. "Can I tempt you to join us?"

"Huh?" she says, turning to look at him. He's leaning against the edge of her desk, jacket on and bag over his shoulder.

"Hotch is coming over to my place – Jack's camping with his friend's family for the weekend," he repeats. She hesitates, chewing her lip. "Come on. You look like you could use the company." She nods.

They sit around the fire in his living room, Hotch and Emily together on the sofa, watching the flames in silence as Rossi rummages around in the kitchen. He comes back with a bottle of scotch and three glasses and starts pouring.

"I don't drink anything that burns," Emily warns, as he reaches for the third glass.

"Oh, this doesn't burn," he assures her, pouring her a measure. "It caresses."

She laughs as he passes her the glass and raises his. She picks her glass up, and they do a three-way clink before sipping. She sips warily at first, preparing herself for the kind of whiskey she's used to from another life, but it's so good it goes down like water. "Oh my god," she says.

Hotch smiles a little. "Converted?"

"Definitely."

They settle into comfortable silence and the next several glasses go just as quickly – eventually they find their words and start talking, about nothing at first, then about Jack, then about the case. "It just sucks, you know?" Emily mutters, her throat and stomach feeling warm from the scotch, her tongue just a little sluggish. She wraps her arms around her legs, her mind full of images from the past few days. "Those kids. They shouldn'tâ€Ĥ"

She trails off and Hotch and Rossi nod, looking at nothing in particular. "We got him," Rossi says. "He can't do it again."

"Yeah," she mutters, and doesn't add that's not good enough. Before her brain has time to catch up to her body, she's leaning sideways, settling her head on Hotch's shoulder. He stiffens for a second and she catches herself. "Sorry," she says, shifting back.

"No," he says quickly. "It's okay."

A slow smile spreads on her face, which she tries to cover by sipping more scotch, as she settles against him. He feels warm and strong, and something in the back of her mind tells her she'd never do this sober, but the front of her mind doesn't care. Rossi raises his eyebrows, watching them but saying nothing. "Jack must be having a good time," he says eventually. "Last weekend this trip was all he could talk about."

"I'm sorry you can't see him tonight," Emily adds softly. "But I'm sure he's having a great time."

Hotch leans his head sideways, settling it on hers for a few moments before straightening up. Her cheeks burn, and she resolves to blame the alcohol if questioned. "Thanks. I know he'll love it." He takes another sip of scotch and adds, "This is fine too."