Author's Note: Another repost, another universe resurrected! This is Universe B. The one with Emily grieving…and terrorists. So, it's not really a 'light' read. More at the end on that.

And here, please heed the warning.

MAJOR ANGST AHEAD!

This is the very first of the spinoff universes. If you're just discovering this story, you should first read chapters 1-51 of "Falling in Love with a Girl." This story picks up events immediately after Chapter 51 in that story. Basically it's just after Hotch getting blown up in NY, and Emily getting beaten in CO.

The Ringing Of The Bell

Hotch had been standing in front of Emily's front door for almost ten minutes. Three times he'd brought his hand up to ring the bell . . . three times he'd let his arm fall back to his side. Because he did not want to be the one to do this to her.

To break her heart.

But he had to be the one. Because she had to be told in person. He couldn't have her finding out from some stranger on the phone. Or worse, some talking head on the news.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

So he took a breath . . . and finally . . . he rang the bell. Once . . . and again. And then one more time, because it was the middle of the night, and he knew that she was sleeping. Then he stepped back, and he clenched his fists.

And he waited.

It took a couple minutes, but finally he heard shuffling from inside, and then the locks were sliding and the door was opening. And then there was Emily blinking, obviously still half asleep in her blue flannel pajamas. They had toasters on them. And seeing her looking so vulnerable, it made his stomach hurt.

Christ.

"Hotch?" Emily stared up at him blearily, "what's wrong?"

For a second he just stood there, his gut churning, but then he took a step closer. He almost reached out to take her hand . . . but again he waited.

He needed to say it first.

"Something's happened," he said after a moment, "I need to come in."

A shot of adrenaline hit Emily's system then, clearing the sleep from her brain.

Because those weren't good words to hear in the middle of the night. Really, those weren't good words to hear at any time of the day. And her brow was wrinkled with worry as she stepped back to let Hotch inside her apartment.

It didn't help her now GALLOPING imagination, that he didn't make eye contact as he brushed by her to head directly down to the living room. Then she watched as he stopped by her sofa, bit his lip, and let his gaze fell to the floor.

Both of his fists were clenched.

Oh God . . . her stomach started to twist . . . this was bad. This was going to be REALLY bad!

With a growing sense of dread now filling her, Emily turned back to shut the door and turn the deadbolt.

It was after two in the morning, and Hotch had just shown up at her door wearing his pajamas, a hoodie, and his gun, to tell her something. And now he won't look at her.

The horrific possibilities going through her mind were absolutely ENDLESS!

Hotch lifted his head, catching Emily's frightened gaze as he momentarily debated asking her to sit down. But then he figured that she already knew that something terrible had happened, so he should just get it out.

So he cleared his throat.

"Prent . . ."

But she cut him off.

"Wait," Emily shook her head as she walked quickly down the hall to close the distance between them. When she stopped in front of him, she had her hand up.

"What you came to tell me is really bad, right?"

The question came with a nervous clenching of her fist.

Hotch nodded slowly in response . . . but he didn't say anything.

This was her news. He'd go at her pace. All he wanted was to make sure that she wasn't alone when she found out.

Emily stared at Hotch. Now she had her confirmation that it was in fact, 'really bad.' Okay, well, she'd had really bad news before.

How had she handled it?

She blinked.

"Do you want a drink?" Before he could answer, she nodded to herself, "you must want a drink, because I want a drink just looking at you. And you already know this bad thing, so let's have a drink and then you'll tell me, okay?"

Hotch looked at her for a second before he nodded again.

"Okay," he answered quietly, "if that's what you want . . . then that's what we'll do."

He actually would LOVE a drink! But he sure as hell wouldn't have asked her for one. If she wanted to put this off for a couple more minutes though, that was very okay with him too. Because once he said it, he wouldn't be able to take it back. That was it, her life as she now knew it . . . would be over.

More people should get the opportunity to have a drink before that moment happens.

Emily went over to her small liquor cabinet and took out the Jameson's, and two highball glasses. Then she went back to the kitchen to fill the glasses with ice and whiskey before she brought everything . . . including the bottle . . . over to the coffee table.

Once there, she down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.

Hotch took a breath before he moved over to sit down, taking the full glass Emily handed to him as he slipped by her.

He tossed the whiskey back like it was a shot, even though it wasn't. And as Emily saw him put the now empty glass down onto the table, she murmured.

"It's that bad, huh."

So she repeated his action, wincing at the sensation of the liquor burning her throat. Then she put her glass back down next to his.

For a moment she stared at the ice as it melted and swirled with the brown droplets still in the glass. Then she took a breath and nodded as she turned to look at him.

"Okay," her lips pursed, "you can tell me now."

Hotch took his own breath before he slowly rubbed his hands together.

"Okay," he started quietly, "I got a call from Strauss about thirty minutes ago. The section chiefs are automatically notified when there's a major terrorist attack. In this instance, suspected, attack. But also in this instance there was more to it," he swallowed, "because there are also major diplomatic, implications."

He hoped that might give her a clue, prepare her, because he didn't want to just blurt it out before she was ready. But he could see that she was now staring at him in utter bewilderment.

She still had no idea where he was going with this.

So he reached over and picked up her hand.

"Prentiss," he continued gently, "there was a plane crash . . . in Egypt."

Seeing her eyes widening in horror, his stomach turned. She didn't know before, but she knew now. So he just got the rest out as quickly as possible.

As though it would somehow hurt her less that way.

"I'm so sorry," he shook his head sadly, "but there were no survivors."

Emily doubled over, gasping.

OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!

Feeling a wave of pain and empathy for her grief, with his free hand Hotch immediately started rubbing Emily's back as she tried to catch her breath.

He felt utterly helpless! He just wished there was something that he could say or do that would help her!

But he was drawing a complete blank.

Even with the hundreds of death notifications that he'd given over the years, it still gave him absolutely no preparation for dealing with one this close to home. And when she lifted her head to look at him, and he saw the raw misery on her face, his heart ached for her.

"Are they really sure," her voice broke, "no survivors?!"

Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe they were just hurt!

Hotch's expression softened.

"I'm sorry," his hand stilled on her back, "but they're sure."

Then he paused, not sure if this was the time to tell her the rest. But then he decided if it was him, that he'd want to know. So he ran his thumb along her hand as he continued quietly, "there was an explosion shortly after takeoff. They went in over the Indian Ocean."

The first tears starting running down Emily's face as she asked hoarsely, "so that means no bodies?"

He looked down, then dragged his eyes back up to hers . . . if she had to hear it, then he needed to not be a coward about saying it.

"There are bodies. The pilots were still in contact with the tower when they disappeared off radar. And there were a number of fishing boats in the area, so the response to the scene was pretty quick." He cleared his throat, "they've recovered about half of the passengers so far but, uh . . ."

Emily's face crumpled as she finished the sentence that he couldn't.

"But they won't be identified without DNA and dental records."

At his slow nod, she finally started to cry.

For a moment, he just squeezed her fingers, not sure what he should do. Or really what she would WANT him to do. But then she moaned . . . it was an awful sound, like a wounded animal . . . and his choice was clear.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her over to his chest.

But as her sobs got more violent, his own eyes began to burn in sympathy, and after only a split second's hesitation, he just pulled her completely into his lap.

Her fingers clutched his hoodie in a vice grip. Then she buried her face into his neck and he felt the hot tears start to fall against his skin. So he wrapped her up in his arms, and cuddled her close, wanting so badly to tell her that it would be okay . . . he closed his eyes . . . but it wouldn't be okay.

Because both of her parents were dead.

It would never be okay again.

So he just held her close, rubbed her back, and let her cry.

At least five minutes passed before she started sucking in heaving breaths, and Hotch knew that she was trying to get her emotions back under control. And he was relieved to feel, that for the moment at least, the sobs were passing.

He'd been worried that she was going to make herself sick.

Emily finally . . . temporarily . . . exhausted her supply of tears. So she tucked her head under Hotch's chin, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm down.

Some part of her knew that sitting in his lap, even given their complicated history, was a new thing. Not that it mattered. It was simply a fact that her brain had catalogued. But again, it wasn't a fact that mattered. Very little mattered to her right now.

Because she had just become an orphan.

She reached up to wipe her hand across her face as she said the word to herself again.

Orphan.

Somehow, she'd always thought that was just a word for little kids. Apparently not. Because she was thirty-nine, and that was the only word that would come to her. She sniffled then, which made her realize that her nose was running.

All over Hotch.

Shit.

So using his chest for leverage, she pushed herself back. Then she again wiped her hand across her face as she hiccupped.

"I'm sorry," she murmured as she looked at him with a wince, "but my nose has been running all over your shirt."

For a second Hotch just looked at her before his lips twisted into a sad smile. Then he slipped his arm back around her shoulders, and tugged her back against his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered against her temple and patted her side, "it doesn't matter."

Only Emily could even think of such thing right now.

Then he felt her hands twisting at the neck of his t-shirt as she murmured a pitiable, "thanks."

So he tightened his hold around her body, because she sounded so broken that he didn't know what to do. Or what to say.

He had nothing.

Emily closed her eyes as she tucked her face against the curve of Hotch's neck, breathing him in.

She didn't want to get up. She wanted to stay right there on the couch wrapped up in his arms, as long as he would stay with her. Because eventually she knew that he was going to have to leave, and then she was going to have to handle this nightmare all by herself.

She was trying to put that moment off as long as possible.

Because she didn't have any brothers or sisters, and because her family had always traveled so much, they'd never been close to her parents' siblings, or her cousins. So it was just her now. She didn't have anyone anymore.

Not even anyone to fight with.

God what she wouldn't give for another fight with her mother!

As another tear ran down her face, Emily murmured against Hotch's chest.

"I'm all alone now."

Hotch tucked a strand of hair back behind Emily's ear as he whispered, "you're not alone. I know that we're not your real family, but you have us, Prentiss."

Then he winced as he corrected himself while tightening his embrace.

"Emily."

He knew that he needed to stop calling her Prentiss all the time. She was the only one that he never called by her first name. Originally he'd thought that it was just out of habit . . . which was definitely part of it . . . but at some point he'd realized that subconsciously he did it to keep her at arm's length. And then once he was divorced . . . and realized that he was developing a more personal attachment and affection for her . . . he did it on purpose.

Trying to maintain the distance that was no longer there.

But now was not the time for his neuroses. The poor thing thought that she was all alone in the world. And it wasn't going to help convince her that she wasn't, if he couldn't even call her by her first name. So he said it again against her hair as he rubbed his hand down back.

"Emily, I promise, whatever you need, I'm here, okay?"

She nodded against his chest.

"Thanks," then she sighed, "but I have to go get them. I need to bring them home."

Without a doubt, she knew that was what they would do for her. It was what was right.

You take care of your own.

At Emily's announcement, Hotch froze for a second while he tried to think of a delicate way to say he needed to say.

There wasn't one.

"You know, uh," he started haltingly, "well, they don't know yet whose bodies they have. Not everyone has been recovered."

'And not everyone will be recovered,' he added to himself.

But he couldn't bear to say that aloud.

Because at the moment, the small amount of focus that was driving her, was the recovery of her parents' remains. And he'd already taken enough from her tonight.

He wouldn't take that too.

But then he felt her nod again.

"I know, but I still want to go. Because if they do have them, it's going to take weeks to get them home from there. I assume we have jurisdiction?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "it was a diplomatic flight, all American passengers and crew. Strauss told me that we're sending a team out with the NTSB. There's still a possibility it was mechanical failure or just an accident. But given their mission, and where they were, our people are going to investigate in case it's a crime scene."

Of course it was a crime scene. Everyone knew the odds of this simply being an unbelievably tragic coincidence, were less than nil.

Emily nestled in closer to Hotch as she said quietly, "okay then, if I'm there to give a sample, and bring their, their," she stumbled over the word, "dental records, then it should go more quickly. Plus maybe if our people know who I am, my parents will get a little consideration. There were three congressman and two senators traveling with them. As VIPs go, my parents, on that flight, aren't going to take the top priority."

"Emily," Hotch responded with a frown, "you know that doesn't make a difference to the investigators."

"Yeah," she sniffed and wiped her hand across her face again, "I know it doesn't make a difference to them. But there's going to be a lot of pressure from a lot of places, and really Hotch," her voice cracked again, "I just want to bring my mom and dad home."

It was the only thing that she could focus on right now . . . getting them back.

"Okay," he ran his hand consolingly down her arm, "okay, whatever you want to do. We'll fly out in the morning."

At his offer, Emily's brow wrinkled in dismay.

"No," she shook her head and patted his chest, "it's too long a trip for you to go, Hotch. I don't want to be a bother. I'll be all right by myself."

As much as she wanted him to come with her, accompanying her on this awful trip was really too much to ask of him. To ask of anyone really.

It was going to take a day just to fly there.

Hotch frowned at Emily's choice of words . . . a bother.

God, he really had done a HORRIBLE job in showing her how important she was to him. He'd thought that he was getting better . . . he had been making a real effort the last few weeks to strengthen their friendship . . . but clearly there was still much work to be done.

This was obviously the time to do it.

"Hey," his fingers ghosted down her arm as he murmured against her temple, "you're too important to me to ever be a bother. But if you'd prefer, I can send Morgan or Dave with you. Because really Emily," he squeezed her wrist, "you can't do this alone. And I would never let you go you halfway around the world by yourself anyway. So you pick one of us to go with you, okay?"

He was relieved that he remembered to call her Emily that time too. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to break the habit.

At Hotch's offer, Emily pushed herself back again so that she could see his face . . . it was resolute . . . so she gave him a watery smile.

"In that case, of course I pick you. I mean," she tipped her head, "if you're really sure that you can take the time, that is."

This was going to be a LOT of time. Especially for a man that worked through holidays.

"Of course," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he nodded again, "Dave can hold down the fort until I get back."

His job was so often about taking care of the dead, and right now he needed to focus on the living.

Focus on Emily.

With one decision now made . . . one of only a thousand that were lined up in front of her . . . Emily took a breath before shifting to put her head down onto Hotch's shoulder again. For a moment she was quiet. Then she whispered.

"I don't know if I'd told you, but I'd talked to them last week when they were in Jordan. I wanted to let them know that I had started back to work and had been cleared for regular duty." She sniffled, "you know, I'd called them right after Colorado to tell them that I was okay. Fortunately they hadn't identified the agents being held, so they didn't know anything until it was over."

That was lucky actually. Her father probably would have stormed the compound.

"Yeah," Hotch rubbed her back, "that's why I didn't call your mother. It was a gamble, but I figured as long as your name wasn't out, then there was no point in making her worry."

In retrospect, he still felt that he'd made the right call there. But now he also wished that he'd called and spoken to her. Because he'd always liked the ambassador. It would have been nice to talk to her one more time, even if it hadn't been under the best of circumstances.

He tipped his head over to rest against Emily's.

Christ, they were having a terrible year.

Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath . . . usually Hotch's scent made her feel better. Like things would be okay. But now, she just felt empty. He still made her feel physically safe . . . more so than usual being wrapped up so close . . . but she knew that things wouldn't be okay.

Even Hotch couldn't fix this one for her.

Feeling the tears starting to well up again, Emily tried to distract herself. So while swallowing over the lump in her throat, she asked softly, "was it on the radio when you came over?"

"Not yet," Hotch responded with a faint shake of his head, "but if it hasn't broken by now, it'll happen soon. It's the middle of the night here, but coming up on mid morning there."

"The remote's on the end table," Emily murmured with a slight gesture of her chin.

Hotch picked up his head to look over before he reached his arm out to grab the silver device. Then he looked down at Emily with a worried brow.

"Are you really sure that you want to see? Because you know what this is like. If they have footage of them going in, they're going to run it over and over. And if they don't know what's going on, then they're going to have all kinds of experts rotating through to speculate about what happened . . . and what they would have gone through," he bit his lip as he looked at her sadly, "it's going to hurt you."

This was a bad idea. He knew in his soul that it was a bad idea.

Emily stared into Hotch's eyes for almost minute . . . you could get lost there. Then she blinked and put her head back on his chest.

"Just for a little bit," The tears started to well up again, "I know that you're probably right, but I just need to make it real. And if the rest of the world knows too, then it's real. It's not just us sitting in the dark."

Hotch looked down at her swollen, still watery, eyes.

He really didn't think that she should put herself through this. But if she wanted to . . . he couldn't see how he could stop her. And maybe it would be best to do it now when the networks didn't have much to run. Then he'd just keep her away from the television for, well . . . he rolled his eyes . . . six or seven months. Probably not practical, but he just wanted to protect her. He hadn't been able to do that in Colorado.

He'd failed her there.

And now tonight, he'd had to come here and break her heart. This was the worst day of her life, and she would always remember that he was the one who told her that her parents were dead. So he just felt like this was the ONE thing that he could make better for her.

That he could control.

But . . . her gaze snapped back up to his and he let out a slow breath . . . he couldn't control this either. That was his hubris. This was her decision to make, and she'd made it. So he nodded, giving her a ghost of a smile, before he hit the button.

They both looked over as the blue glow slowly filled the room. Previously the only light was from the one over the kitchen sink.

Even under the circumstances, Hotch's eyes crinkled faintly when he realized that the last channel she'd been watching was Discovery.

Just like they'd discussed that night with the pizza.

But then his faint amusement immediately faded . . . replaced with a new wave of regret . . . when he realized that if she was watching that channel regularly, it meant that she was struggling. She was already struggling before tonight's terrible news.

So how the hell was she going to go on from this?

Knowing that there was no answer to this question . . . or at least no answer he wanted to accept . . . Hotch sighed as he punched in the channel code for CNN.

They'd get this done, and move on to all the rest of it later.

Emily's eyes widened as the images appeared on the screen. And there it was . . . the huge breaking news banner.

'MID EAST PEACE ENVOY EXPLODES IN MID AIR'

That, along with the pictures of her parents, and the other VIPs, who had gone on the trip. It was real. Her heart twisted.

They were dead.

Before she had fully processed that realization, the crawl caught her eye.

. . . possible terrorist attack . . . exploded before impact . . . no possibility of survivors . . . bodies recovered charred beyond recognition . . .

Feeling a fresh stab of pain in her chest, Emily closed her eyes.

"That's enough," she whispered. And Hotch quickly snapped off the television. But it was too late, she could feel the wave pressing on her chest, as her eyes again filled with tears.

He'd been right, that was a bad idea.

The worst idea ever.

Hotch dropped the remote next to him on the cushion. Then he shifted Emily in his arms and leaned back against the couch. Some part of him was thinking that it should have felt odd to have had her sitting in his lap for the last twenty minutes. But it didn't feel odd.

It felt right.

They'd gone through a lot together that year, most of it bad. And next to Dave, Hotch realized that Emily was probably the only person that he ever felt like he could talk to about his life.

That he trusted with his secrets.

Time and again this year she'd seen him in his worst, most vulnerable, moments. And she'd never judged him or betrayed his trust. All she'd ever done, was show him care and concern.

And affection.

And he saw then, that was why hadn't hesitated in his offer to go with her. She needed somebody to look after her, and he wanted to be that person. Because when he'd needed somebody to look after him, she'd stepped in without him even asking.

She'd saved him.

So with that revelation, this time when she started to cry, he had something real to say as he rubbed her back. He promised her that she wasn't alone, and that he would stay with her, and that he would help her get through this. And after she'd cried herself to sleep in his arms, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Those were promises he intended to keep.

A/N 2: New note for 2021.

I was DREADING starting the repost here, because again, this was literally my first spinoff world, ever. So obviously it was written way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I just figured it was going to be painful AF even reading it. But, funny thing, I actually enjoyed redoing this chapter! Just because as I started going over it, I realized that as it WAS written so long ago, I was writing in a different style then. Just straightforward plot and dialogue. Much less visually descriptive. Over time, I began to paint my scenes with more detail. This one here, had very little detail. So going along, I just added in all of the elements of the scene that I could see in my head, but hadn't already shared on the page. I think it's much better than the earlier version :)

The one thing that seriously bummed me out here, was killing off her dad. When I wrote this originally, he'd only been mentioned in passing, in Girl proper. No live appearances. But anyone who follows Girl overall, knows how much of a key secondary AU character he eventually became in ALL of the worlds. I love her dad! He's my own creation, and he's very vibrant in my head, and it sucked taking him away from Emily :( It was also odd for me redoing this, because my own dad died last year, (and my mom now has dementia – fun!) so I have a VERY different perspective now on losing your parents, than I did back in the dinosaur days of the original post. Not sure what impact that may have on the other chapters going forward, but we shall see.

And to a lighter point, anyone new here should know that I always say to picture Emily's dad as Bruce Boxleitner. And if you're familiar with Scarecrow and Mrs. King, then you'll get why that is, and why it makes me happy :)

Otherwise, to the original story note, I was intrigued by the idea of another precipitating act for them to 'accelerate their bonding.' And if one of them had a major tragedy befall them so quickly on the heels of what happened in New York and Colorado, then things between them could go differently because they would have such a fresh perspective on how short and fragile, life can be. That's where we're going here.

Again, thanks for all of the reviews and follows and faves. It's hard to get back on the individual notes, but they are so much appreciated, and definitely now, help me stay focused on this little project. Because it would be harder to justify (to myself) taking the time here to clean up these old stories, if I didn't think there was anyone out there who actually had any interest in reading them. And now I'm going to go to bed :)