Emily sat in the soft armchair, hands idly fidgeting with a stray thread on the arm.

"Have you been sleeping? Nightmares?" the short bald man across from her peered over the tops of his glasses at her, pen writing idly on the notepad in his lap.

"Yeah, I'm sleeping fine. No real nightmares. Things are going well." She shrugged, pulling absent-mindedly at her black turtleneck.

"What's the difference a real nightmare and a fake nightmare?" his eyebrow raised slightly, making a note of her anxious posture.

"I don't know. I suppose real nightmares are negative dreams your brain devises, which I'm not having." She hated therapists, especially FBI-appointed therapists. She didn't want or need to be here.

"And what you're experiencing is..?"

"Memories, I guess." Picking at her nail, Emily crossed and uncrossed her legs.

"Of your abduction." It wasn't a question, but an assumption instead.

"No. Old memories."

"Could you give me an example?"

Emily stumbled down the steps of Cyrus' ranch, amidst the various women and children she'd led to safety. The compound burned behind them, flames screaming into the sky.

"Reid? Morgan?" she called out for her friends, her heart caught in her throat. Her body was heavy, the feeling magnified by the flames before her.

"Emily..." Hotch's voice behind her only barely registered over the ringing in her ears and the panic flooding her mind.

Coughing and sputtering, the two male agents emerged from the smoke, Morgan guiding Reid towards safety.

"Oh, god." Emily's hands covered her face for a moment, fear visibly leaving her body. Carefully, she climbed the steps towards them, towards Spencer. Her arms wrapped around his neck as the young man tightened his arms around her waist. She smiled, burying her face in the man's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Emily." he murmured quietly into the woman's ear, his hands pressed to her back.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again, Spencer Reid." her eyes briefly fluttered closed, the feeling of him, alive, slowing her racing heart. She stepped back from him, smiling up at him, relief still flooding her mind. Turning back towards the sea of evacuees and law enforcement, Spencer kept his arm around his friend, holding her against his side, comforted by the small rise and fall of her chest. Tucking his messy hair behind his ear, Spencer led the bruised woman away from the blazing compound behind them.

"Are you okay?" He gestured to her blood-stained button-up as he led her towards the ambulance parked off to the side.

"Yes." She smiled up at him again, still just so relieved he was okay.

Emily opened her hotel room to see her boss standing stoically before her, still in his suit.

"Hotch?" she rubbed at her forehead, groggy from sleep.

"I'm sorry to wake you. May I come in for a moment?"

"I-Uh, sure, I guess..." Cautiously, she stepped back and opened the door further. The situation made her uncomfortable. Her boss at her hotel door at 3am. But how was she supposed to say no? Closing the door softly, she turned to face him.

"Emily, I..." His expression was pained, far from what she'd grown used to, one she'd seen only once before. She reached for his arm, her fingertips grazing his forearm. His eyes held hers, superior and subordinate, neither willing to be the first to look away.

"What's wrong?" she bit her lip anxiously, unsure of how to handle the situation unfolding in front of her. Hotch shook his head, slowly lifting his hand to her shoulder. She tensed briefly, blinking up at him. Slowly, watching her eyes for signs of resistance, Hotch wrapped his arms around the small woman in front of him, pulling her against his chest.

"Listening to you with Cyrus... that was one of the hardest things I've had to do. Listening and doing nothing." he mumbled against her hair.

"I'm okay, Aaron. I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks." Cautiously, she leaned into him, relaxing slightly in his arms.

"I have so much respect for you, Emily. No one expected you to do that." He kept his arms around her, face resting against her hair.

"It's part of the job: putting yourself on the line." her arms moved to wrap around his upper shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles near the base of his neck. He remained quiet. After a few moments, she felt him sigh, a fraction of the tension he carried leaving his form.

"Besides, I knew you'd all figure things out." Drawing back slightly, Emily smiled softly up at him. They remained that way for a few minutes, silence settling around them.

"I guess I should let you sleep..." Hotch finally spoke, dropping his arms to his sides, "I'm sorry to intrude like this."

"Aaron." her voice was soft as she rested her hand against the side of his neck, her thumb gently brushing against his jaw, "Don't do this. Please."

"I'm sorry, Emily, I don't understand." He didn't withdraw from her touch, but remained unmoved.

"You came here, to my room in the middle of the night. You were vulnerable. And now you're completely blocking me out again." she frowned, shaking her head, "I'm getting whiplash here."

His eyes held hers as he drew her back against him.

"I just... I needed to know you were okay." his voice was barely audible.

"You already knew I was okay."

"I needed to feel it." his eyes left hers, unable to hold eye contact any longer. Emily wrapped herself around him once more, squeezing the older man gently. His hands spread across her lower back and he buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes for a while. They remained that way for what felt like an eternity before he finally pulled away, pressed his lips gently to the top of her head, and retreated from the room without another word.

"I see..." her therapist trailed off, writing quickly, "and these men, they're your...?"

"Coworkers. Friends." Emily answered immediately.

"I see. And you've spent significant time with all of your coworkers since your abduction? Or just these two?" he pursed his lips, setting her up.

"No. I've seen Aaron Hotchner primarily. My other coworkers stop by often, but don't stay long."

"I see. And why is it that you and Mr. Hotchner are spending more time together than with your other friends?"

"I don't know." The question made her uncomfortable, causing her to shift in her seat, "There's more history there. More trust."

"You trust him to see your vulnerability." he accused.

"I guess. My other coworkers treat me... different." Her response was met with an inquisitive look, a silent request for elaboration.

"Penelope frets over me: I move an inch and she acts like I've been shot right in front of her. JJ pretends everything is normal, but she mothers me. If I get up for water, she runs to the kitchen and brings it to me. If I yawn, she immediately suggests I take a nap. Dave always presses me to talk about things, or stares at me until I do. And Derek pesters me about Spencer."

"Hm. And what about Spencer?"

"We haven't spoken since before everything happened." her eyes lowered to the floor, absentmindedly fidgeting with a stray piece of hair.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"I don't know. He hasn't reached out." a hint of sadness crept into her voice, though she was quick to squash it.

"And you haven't reached out because?"

"I don't know. I assume if he wanted to speak to me, he'd reach out..." Her voice trailed off as her thoughts began to race, too quickly for her to articulate.