Title: The Lion and The Antelope
By: FotoBridget2
Pairing: Hotch/Prentiss
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is the entire collection of my AU Hotch/Prentiss stories-in the proper reading order-Takes place immediately following the finale of Season three I blew up Rossi.

***

PROLOGUE TO CHANGE:

I. Krishnamurti
The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed.

Rossi watched from the back of the group. Just watched his team as they trekked through the South Dakota woods. It was good to be back, he thought, thinking of his return to work four months ago after a ten year retirement. Things had changed since his day, but he couldn't find it in himself to complain. The BAU was more of a cohesive unit, a family, than the older team had been. And he put that down to one thing—or three—as this case may be. The old BAU had been a man's man club. Not a female in sight—unless you counted old Bertie, the secretary the entire BAU had shared.

Emily and JJ—and Garcia, back at Washington—certainly changed things, in a way Dave wouldn't have thought possible. And as far as Dave was concerned, they changed it only for the better of all around them.

Just look at them. Well, two of them.

They walked behind Reid and Morgan, arms linked, as they chatted about shoes, of all things. Their spirits were keeping everyone's spirits up. Distracting them from the fact that somewhere in the woods around them were two groups of men who'd want nothing more than to see the great FBI agents fail and flounder in the wilds they suddenly found themselves in. If they didn't kill them outright.

JJ stumbled, dressed way inappropriately for an impromptu trek down a mountain at nine o'clock at night—but she'd not had time to change after the press conference she'd arranged. Morgan turned to the blonde, one hand wrapping around her arm to help balance her, while Emily did the same on the other side.

Emily and Morgan, at least, knew how to dress for the field. Dark fatigues and cotton tee-shirts, with sturdy, serviceable boots, served those two consummate agents well, making them blend into their dark surroundings—even if Rossi always found the mode of dress incongruous with the younger woman's personality. She seemed more the silk and satin type, compared with the commando type that Morgan seemed to be born to. Still—the woman knew her way around the field, so maybe it wasn't so surprising?

Hotch, JJ, and Reid—they were obviously the more citified members of the team. Chinos and sweater for Reid, although his brown leather shoes were probably at least minimally comfortable. Hotch—Hotch was dressed in his prosecutorial clothes; navy suit, severe tie, black shoes that weren't designed for hiking. But neither complained. Just walked.

It was Hotch, Rossi thought, who was the particular fly in the family ointment, the last holdout to the old way of the BAU, for all his lecture to Dave that day about how things had changed for the better in the last ten years.

Aaron Hotchner deliberately cut himself off from the 'family' the team had become. He closed himself off, separated himself, in a way that Dave knew was completely unhealthy. He'd seen it before—hell, he'd experienced it before.

And it needed to change, for the younger man. And quickly. But how?

Emily paused in her trek, turning toward the man in the rear. "Dave, you getting lost back there?"

"In thought, Emily." Dave admitted, walking a little faster. He linked his arm through hers, being hit with the subtle scent of strawberries he'd learned to associate with this woman—the one whom he felt the closest to out of all of the team. Even closer than Hotchner, these days. If Dave was completely honest with himself—completely, the way only a profiler could be—he'd admit his feelings for the much younger brunette weren't always completely professional. Ten years, if he was ten years younger—and not three times divorced—he'd have been after her from day one.

Emily Prentiss was the kind of woman men should have dreamed about. The kind men wrote poems about—not that she knew that, though. Smart, funny, beautiful, sexy, witty, compassionate, strong, understanding—she understood the human mind, and that made her able to understand the type of man who could do this job. Because she could do this job. And as far as Dave was concerned it was completely unfathomable that she was still unattached—he'd think that every free man in the BAU would have been after her. Every one of them, on all the teams.

He knew Sommers' man had asked her out, he'd heard her refusal, but it surprised him immensely that the members of her own team hadn't seen what a prize she was. He could see her with someone like Morgan—strong, honorable, a bit on the wounded side, and he could see her with someone like Aaron. Coolly professional, civilized on the outside, primitive on the inside. Yet, as far as he knew, neither man looked at her that way. Derek treated her like the best friend he'd ever had, more so than he did Garcia—although Dave had an inkling as to the feelings between those two—and Emily seemed more comfortable with the man then she did with anyone in the unit. She trusted him completely, and Dave knew that trust didn't come that easily to a woman like Emily—one who was coolly professional, slightly wounded, a straight-shooter, honest to a fault, loving, and compassionate—yet utterly reserved with all but a select few.

Dave was just glad he, himself, was beginning to be one of those select few. Pity, he thought, that he wasn't ten years younger. Emily Prentiss's single status wouldn't stand a chance, then.

"Deep thoughts, Dave?" Emily laughed beside him, and he realized he'd been quiet a little too long.

"Just thinking about the most beautiful woman in the world." He whispered to her, eyes wiggling theatrically. With her, he could be himself, laugh about things he couldn't with the others on the team—even sober, somber Aaron. "How 'bout when we get back to DC, you and I go camping for real?"

"Your cabin, I presume?" Emily laughed fully, then. "Never happening, Romeo."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Dave nudged her shoulder softly. He laughed louder when a coyote sounded nearby and both she and JJ—and Reid—jumped, squealed a little. "Afraid of the big bad wolf, Super Agent Prentiss? Don't worry, Red. I'm sure between Morgan, Hotch, Reid, and I—we can protect you."

"I've got my gun, Dave. If I see that big old wolf, I'll protect myself." Emily snickered, as they caught up to the rest of the little group. "Have any of you ever actually seen a wolf—or coyote—up close and personal?"

"Have you?" Morgan quipped, the city boy feeling slightly out of his depth surrounded by so many darkened woods.

"Well, yes." Emily admitted, as the group stalled for a small break. "I was about twelve or thirteen. Spending the summer in the Alps with my grandfather."

"What happened? Do you know what kind of wolf it was? Was it a gray wolf? How big was it?" Reid asked, excitedly.

"Slow down, Reid. It was more than twenty years ago. The first time I saw one." Emily laughed, reaching up to ruffle the younger man's hair in an unconscious gesture of affection. "I was out with my cousin. She and I were taking photos. We came over a hill, and there she was. Beautiful, and twenty feet away from us."

"Alone?" Dave asked, struck by the apprehension that the thought of two young girls meeting a wolf in the forest caused. "What happened?"

"I think she was denning, actually. We backed away as slowly as we could." Emily's sigh was one of remembrance for a lifetime so long gone. "I managed to get several wonderful shots. Actually won an award with one of them. I'll never forget it. She was beautiful, wild, free, primal. Gorgeous. I saw several more through the years but nothing like her."

"Wow." JJ said, "I would have freaked."

"I'd been in the woods enough to know that you stayed as quiet as possible. Learned not to move when not to move." Emily laughed, then. "It was wonderful."

Dave couldn't really picture it, this woman at home in the woods, but he'd seen the evidence himself. Even today. They'd spent hours on trails, visiting the crime scenes of four dead teenagers. He, Hotch, Emily, and Morgan—and of all them, himself included, Emily had had the least amount of trouble moving around in the steep countryside. She was like a damned antelope, graceful and delicate, yet perfectly comfortable in the wooded world.

"Emily, our little wilderness girl." JJ snickered.

"Every summer for six years. Nothing to do but hang out in the Alps."

"Beautiful country." Rossi said, having been in the region on part of his book tour. "I'd like to go back there, someday."

"I have a cabin there." Emily admitted, "My grandfather left it to me and my cousin when he died."

"You get back much?" Morgan asked, knowing the woman rarely took a vacation.

"Every couple of years. I try. It doesn't always happen." Emily's sigh then was sad, and Dave patted her back slightly.

"Tell you what, Emily." Dave said, slyly, teasingly, loud enough for the entire group to hear. "Anytime you feel the urge to shoot on over to the Alps—I'll gladly provide company."

"Ah, but Dave, the purpose of the cabin—is to be alone." Emily snickered, knowing Dave's teasing was just in fun. "And it's a one room cabin, my friend. You'd have to sleep outside. With the wolves."

"You are heartless, Agent Prentiss." Dave laughed, as well as JJ, Reid, and Morgan. Hotch hadn't said anything.

In fact, Dave realized, the man hadn't said anything at all since they'd climbed into their SUV for the drive back to the small sheriff's office and realized the battery was completely drained. What was going on with him?

"Hey!" Emily said, suddenly pointing to the east. "What's that?"

"What?" JJ asked, "I don't see anything."

"Neither do I." Reid said, straining to see through the dark woods.

"It looks to be a building." Hotch said, flatly. "We might as well check it out. We're not walking all the way back to town this late."

Not with both a group of UNSUBS and a large country militia nearby. Six agents were no match for three dozen armed rednecks. And a storm coming in.

Luckily, it was a building, though it had apparently been abandoned. Still, the barn was shelter, and it had several large piles of hay that would provide some sort of bedding. Still, it was a good eight hundred feet from the road, and it was night—how had Emily seen that? They were just thankful she had.

As the first rumble of thunder sounded in the distance the team moved toward the barn. Hotch's thoughts were as dark as the night around them. He was inexplicably angry at his team—especially Dave. The man had been hovering around Prentiss the entire four mile hike, and it more than pissed Hotch off. Dave was not going to mess up the team's dynamics by putting the moves on one of his female agents. Hotch wasn't going to let that happen.

And Prentiss—she hadn't exactly seemed all that discouraging. Laughing with the older man the way she never even attempted with Hotch. Teasing him, letting him tease her. Touching him. Letting him touch her.

She wasn't exactly being the cool, composed, do-not-touch woman he expected her to be. The perfect agent, the one he rarely had to worry about. The one he'd never seen lose her composure on a case. The one he trusted more than he'd ever thought he could trust on the job. And she was about to abuse that trust by flirting with Dave. A man almost old enough to be her father.

Highly unprofessional. Not like her. Like Dave, though. Hotch questioned for a moment the extent of Dave's feelings, playing over the exchanges he'd cataloged between the two in the four months since Dave had joined the team.

Emily brought Dave coffee and breakfast at least twice a week. Dave took her out for drinks after work, just as often. They spent at least a half an hour together in Dave's office each morning laughing and talking. She'd accompanied Dave to the charity function Aaron had also attended. She was more relaxed with the older man than she was anyone else on the team—JJ and Morgan included. So it was possible they had feelings for each other. But what did Hotch really know about her feelings on anything?

She was never relaxed with Hotch. In fact, Hotch realized, as he contemplated the dark-haired woman walking a few paces behind him, she seemed almost afraid of him. Afraid of what he thought? Afraid of what he'd see in her?

What was it? Why did she not trust him the way she did the rest of the team? Was it just because of the admitted way he'd treated her in the last year, year and a half?

Hotch had spent a lot of time in the last few months since the divorce—and since the separation—delving his actions and interactions with those around him. Including the team.

He knew deep down, he'd let his team down in the more than fundamental ways. He knew he always portrayed the perfect leader, the consummate profiler, to his people. But had he ever showed them that it got to him, too? That it was ok to be human once in a while?

He'd told JJ it was alright to let things get to her, on the outskirts of a Civil War battlefield. Told Reid about the divorce papers Hayley wanted him to sign uncontested. Told Morgan about how she'd left and he wasn't sure she was ever coming back. Told the entire group, right there when those damned papers arrived, that Hayley wanted a divorce.

But had he ever told his team how much they actually mattered to him? How much it had surprised him when Reid had thrown his arms around him after the whole Hinkle ordeal?

He didn't think so.

And if it came down to it, if he had been the one to fly to Indianapolis half-cocked the way Dave had a few weeks ago, would the team have flown to his aid? He didn't know. He did know it wouldn't have been Agent Emily Prentiss leading the charge the way he'd heard she had with Dave.

And if he was honest with himself, it would be completely understandable. He'd done nothing to get to know her, or even to keep up with the rest of his team. What did he know about JJ's life now? Reid's? He knew the younger man had been going to support groups, but for how long? How was he doing?

As for Derek and Prentiss, what did he really know about them at all? Derek had closed himself off some, since the Carl Buford arrest, at least, closed himself off from him. He'd apparently been more than effusive with Prentiss.

Garcia, he'd learned by overhearing, had come to depend on Emily for emotional support after the Battle shooting. She depended on the older woman for emotional support the way she used to turn to Derek. How did Derek feel about that?

Hotch had been watching his team closely since the night he'd signed the papers. Watching to see how his actions had affected the rest of the people he cared about. See where he fit, now.

He wasn't too happy with what he'd seen. He'd cut himself off from everybody, and they might just have given up on him by now. So he'd made an effort, opening up first to the one person least likely to judge him. Reid, he'd felt, deserved the first overture. Especially after the Chester Hardwick interview. Hotch had antagonized the situation, potentially putting the boy at risk. So he'd told him about Hayley, about how yes, his personal life did influence him at work sometimes, too.

JJ and Morgan—things were ok with those two. He'd not done anything to royally screw up his relationships with either one of them. Mostly because he'd not let himself get close enough to them to have something to mess up. But they were ok. And at least he had basic relationships with the two to build on.

And Dave—Dave was probably the closest friend he had, especially now. So they were good. Would be ok.

Garcia—he knew he had her respect, her admiration, and she knew when the chips were down, she could trust him to do what he had to for her. So things between him and the colorful tech were alright.

That left one other person. The one to whom he probably owed the most for his cold, aloof behavior this past year. Longer. Since she'd joined the BAU, really.

The closest they'd ever had to a real, non-job related conversation had been when she'd wanted to take that girl home with her. And he'd told her he needed her objective. What he hadn't told her was that if she lost her objectivity, he didn't know what to do. She'd always, from day one, kept her emotions out of the job. Always. And that's what he'd come to depend on from her. What he needed from her.

She'd looked at him and told him she needed to be human. Told him with her eyes that she doubted he was. Had ever been, and would ever be. It had bruised him, that look of accusation in those dark eyes.

She'd never opened up to him again. Never spoken to him about anything not case related in the months since that day, nothing of importance, that was. Inconsequential things, things that might be work-related, or casual, inane nothings. But nothing real, nothing important to her. If he hadn't been her superior—he doubted she'd have spoken to him at all since that day.

And he'd learned more about her in the last few hours than he had in months. And she hadn't been talking to him. She'd been laughing with Dave. Ruffling Reid's hair. Encouraging JJ to keep walking. Walking beside Derek. Not even acknowledging Hotch.

So how was he to mend the relationship he had with this final teammate?

Aaron Hotchner had no idea. Not a damned clue.

***

HORROR MOVIES SATISTICS AND A LIFETIME

"Statistically, if this was a horror movie, the only one guaranteed to survive would be Emily." Reid said. "And maybe Morgan or Hotch."

"What the hell you talkin' about now, kid?"

"In the majority of horror movies, there's a certain order to the characters' deaths."

"So who's first?" Rossi asked, willing to humor the young genius. "According to these statistics of yours?"

"Most likely JJ. Young and blonde—she'd go early in the movie."

"Spence, that's not exactly reassuring." JJ said from her place beside Emily. "Especially now."

They were lost in the South Dakota woods. The one SUV they'd been sharing having been disabled by nothing more simple than a dead battery. A small cell of militiamen were also loose in the woods, but they had no way of knowing whether they'd be hostile to the Feds or not. Hotch was erring on the side of caution, so instead of searching for help, they'd chosen to hole up in an abandoned barn a mile from their vehicle. They had two small blankets between them—from JJ and Emily's ready bags—a box of glucose fortified cereal bars from Emily's bag, and their weapons.

For Rossi and Prentiss, it really wasn't that unfamiliar of a situation—being comfortable in the woods was something they'd both found they had in common. For everyone else—city born and bred—it was much harder.

"It's going to get pretty cold." Emily warned. At least she, Morgan, and Rossi were dressed appropriately—cargo pants, boots, and long sleeved shirts. Hotch, Reid, and JJ weren't so lucky. JJ sat shivering in her thin skirt she'd worn for the evening's press conference. Hotch's suit had to be uncomfortable, but he never let on. It was something she both admired and abhorred about her supervisor—that unflappable cool.

"We'll just have to stay close." Hotch said, bluntly.

"That's fine, but no offense—I am not sleeping next to Emily. She kicks like a mule," JJ said, pulling her blanket tightly around herself. "Last time I had to share a hotel room with you—and Garcia-I woke up black and blue."

"None taken, I think." Emily said, ruefully. "I told you and Garcia that I'd better take the couch, but she insisted!"

"When was this?" Morgan asked, a small smile on his face as he imagined the three women sharing a room with one bed between them. It was (almost) every man's fantasy, after all.

"The St. Paul case." Emily said. "Remember that shack of a motel?"

"Oh yeah, that's the one where Hotch ended up sleeping in the bathtub in our room." Morgan said. "I got the pleasure of bunking with Reid. He doesn't kick—but he talks incessantly."

"That place really was a sight right out of a horror movie." JJ said, emphatically.

"Well, we've seen worse." Hotch added, "I think we should get some sleep. Morning will come early around here."

A few minutes later and they'd all arranged themselves as close as possible, to share body heat. Because they'd been smart enough to pack the blankets—and because their smaller frames would lose body heat faster—Emily and JJ were at least covered by the blankets. Hotch and Reid had somehow ended up on each side of Emily, the former being crowded in a little closer than Emily would have liked.

He was the last person on the team she'd ever want to be that close to. He didn't like her, and she wasn't so sure she liked him, either. She respected him professionally, of course. But that was it.

Apparently she wasn't the only one uncomfortable with their new sleeping arrangements. Everyone lay their obviously wide awake for several moments until JJ spoke. "Em? You awake?"

"Yeah, Jay? What do you need?" Emily asked, shifting slightly, elbow inadvertently catching Hotch mid-chest. She hastily apologized and he smiled at her through the darkness. The cracks in the boards of the walls allowed just enough moonlight in to reflect off the white of his teeth in an almost macabre manner.

"Last minute bathroom break." JJ said, and the entire team could hear her embarrassment in her words.

"Come on. Let's go." Emily said, rising to step over Reid. The two women opened the barn door and slipped outside.

They'd been gone less than a minute before Reid spoke. "See, it's just like a horror movie."

"Kid, I swear…why is it just like a horror movie? It's just a bathroom break—women do that all the time. And they always go in little packs." Morgan said irritably. "Trust me, my sisters are the same way."

"Yeah, but they've went out into the dark, alone. If this was a horror movie—JJ wouldn't be coming back at all."

"Spencer, Prentiss and JJ will be back shortly, go to sleep." Hotch said, much as he would if Jack was fighting bedtime.

"Why do you do that?" Reid asked, "Call Emily by her last name, but everyone else is a first name basis when we're not working."

"I wasn't aware that I did."

"You do man, and let me tell you—she's noticed. Thinks you don't think of her as part of the team." Derek added, thinking of the things his friend had told him. They'd gotten pretty close since she'd joined the team, and he'd heard her rant about the coldly severe supervisor on several occasions. She'd called him a damned frozen Yeti on more than one occasion.

"I see." Hotch said, thinking over all their interchanges. Her strange arrival, his confronting her about her agenda, her quitting rather than spreading dirt about him and the team—she certainly was a part of the team.

His musings were interrupted by the door opening and the women returning to their spots on the large pile of hay.

"See, kid. Told you they'd come back." Morgan said, lying in his place between JJ and Spencer. The loft they were in was narrow, with just enough room for the entire team to lay side by side. Hotch and Rossi were on the outer edges with the younger agents arranged between them.

Hotch could smell her shampoo—even though it was light—over the musty scent of old barn. She'd recently switched brands. Strawberries. It inexplicably tightened his gut.

"Of course we came back, Derek. Why wouldn't we?" Emily asked, rolling on her side, putting her back in Hotch's direction. Trying to fool herself into thinking he wasn't back there.

He swallowed quietly, wondering if she was deliberately trying to shut him out from her consciousness. He wouldn't blame her if she was. He hadn't exactly been the most welcoming person to her. If he was honest with himself, she was probably the one who got the shortest end of the stick with him. She was always the one he had do the odd jobs, the small, meaningless tasks, the grunt work.

And she always did it perfectly, exactly as he needed it, and all without complaint. Because he'd asked her to. To help the team. To belong.

He always took advantage of her longing to be valued, be part of the team. He knew he'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't welcome on his team. But that was a long time ago. Had he bothered to make her understand that his opinions had changed?

Or had he been too busy with Hayley to even recognize that he was taking it out on Emily?

Because she'd take it. Do whatever he needed without a word of protest. Because Emily Prentiss so desperately wanted somewhere to belong.

He used that to his advantage.

But he could see where she'd possibly misunderstand his reasons. He did trust her, he really did. But in the back of his mind was always the thought that it was his job to keep her as safe as he could—her and JJ, as safe as possible. If that meant giving her grunt jobs, then he'd do it. Maybe she'd been right when she'd said he didn't trust women the way he did men.

"Kid's convinced himself that this is a low budget horror film and that you two found some trouble out there." Rossi said, quietly.

"I've not convinced myself of anything." Reid said indignantly, as Emily settled around on the hay beside him. "I was just making a correlation between works of fiction and this instance."

"Go to sleep, kid." Morgan ordered, starting to get impatient. "You girls ok?"

"Hmm. Stuck in the woods with possibly crazy militiamen nearby—and Reid's horror movie statistics in my head—yeah, I'm fine. Having the time of my life. You, JJ?" Emily said, sarcastically. Morgan threw some straw over Reid to silence the woman, but he overshot and it soared over Emily and hit Hotch mid chest.

"Thanks, Derek. Just what I needed." Hotch said, flatly.

"Let's not forget that in this particular movie—I'm most likely already a goner." JJ said. "Of course, you don't have to worry, Em. According to Reid's stats, you're the only one guaranteed to survive."

"Gee, statistics are so reassuring." Emily replied, not aware that Hotch was watching her every move, every wiggle with a heated eye. The moonlight through the holes in the wall made visibility just possible.

Hotch knew exactly where and what she did.

"Hey, Reid. Why did you say, one of Morgan or Hotch? Why not both?" JJ asked softly, after she'd settled back down between Morgan and Rossi.

"Because depending on the class of movie—action or psychological thriller—the main hero is either the athletic and intelligent guy, or the coolly intelligent, slightly older reluctant hero type. Prentiss would survive because she's the older, brainy, attractive female."

"Thanks, Spence. So I'm the nerdy girl, and JJ is the—"

"Cheerleader." Morgan and Emily finished together, laughing at JJ's indignant snort.

"There's nothing wrong with being a nerd, Em. Apparently, nerds survive the longest." Rossi said around a yawn and a laugh. "So what would I be, kid?"

"You're ambiguous, Dave." Spencer said enthusiastically, "Either you're the villain or the last good guy to die. Older, supposedly wiser, you'll prove indispensible and will die saving the heroine from the villain. Or you're the villain whom she'd need saving from."

"What kind of movie is this again—couldn't she just save herself? It would be a whole lot less trouble." Emily asked. Hotch could hear a slight laugh beneath her words.

"Only on Lifetime Movie Network." JJ said, snottily. Emily laughed fully, then.

"Shut up, cheerleader. You're already gone, remember. You didn't even make it ten minutes past opening credits."

"Yeah, but apparently you have to depend on either Hotch or Morgan to save your helpless ass, nerd." JJ shot back in a whisper.

Hotch listened to the teasing, more than a little nonplused. Did the two women always rib each other this way? If so, he was extremely surprised. JJ had never warmed to Elle that way. What else had he missed in the last year or so?

"Who says a movie needs a hero? No, I think I'll save my own ass—no offense, Derek or Hotch." Emily squirmed around again, and Hotch had an inkling of what she'd be like asleep. She hadn't been still for more than thirty seconds since laying down on the hay beside him. "At least then I'd control any variables."

"None taken, chick." Derek said. "You're too much trouble for me to baby-sit a whole movie, anyway! So stubborn you'd probably find trouble just to spite me. Fall off a cliff or something."

"You'd be lucky to be my hero, Derek, and you know it. I'd probably end up saving your ass on more than a few occasions." Emily said. "So, tell me, Reid. If Dave is the villain—or the last to die—JJ is long gone, either Hotch or Derek and I survive…what about you and whomever is not the hero? What about Garcia?"

"Garcia would most likely go right before Rossi—as a good guy-because her technical skills will come in handy to the hero/heroine. I'd probably be after JJ. Wonder into an incredibly stupid, and dangerous situation and the hero/heroine would narrowly miss saving me. As for Morgan or Hotch—non-hero—he'd probably go about midway through the movie. But only after he'd been mistaken for the villain. It will be a particularly brutal death as well." Spencer explained. "But this is only a movie, after all."

"But Emily would survive." JJ snickered. "How unfair."

"Get over it, Barbie. We nerds are entitled to something, too. Especially from you cheerleaders. " Emily said, yawning, as she leaned inadvertently toward Hotch's radiating warmth. For such a cold man, he sure gave off a lot of heat. And Emily hated to be cold. "Good night, JJ, everybody. I'm going to sleep now."

"Good night, Em." JJ said. "Good thing we're not fictional characters, huh?"

"Sleep, JJ, Emily." Hotch ordered finally, sensing the two women would chatter all night if they could. Morgan and Reid were already out.

Five minutes later he learned exactly what JJ meant about Emily kicking like a mule. She would move a bit and settle, and he'd relax, then she'd move an arm or a leg, or her head. He knew he'd most likely be awake all night—and bruised in the morning. Every time she moved, she got closer to him and further away from Reid. Her hair brushed against his chin, catching on the day's worth of beard growth. It was soft and silky and smelled like her.

All of a sudden none of it mattered—the cold, the musty barn, the hay, the kicking and squirming. All that mattered was he was lying beside her.

Where had this sudden need come from? This was Prentiss for God's sakes.

"My second ex was the same way." Rossi's whisper came through the darkness, startling Hotch so that he jerked, unintentionally bumping Emily's shoulder.

He held his breath, hoping she didn't wake. When he was sure she was completely out, he replied. "What way?"

"Squirmer. Took me six months to get used to sleeping with her. By then we were headed for divorce. She had nightmares, couldn't seem to settle. I found that if I held her, pulled her against my chest, she'd go still and we could both sleep. I kind of miss that."

"I'm sorry." Hotch said, understanding exactly what the man meant. Sleeping alone after so long took a lot of getting used to.

"I know why you don't use her first name." Rossi continued, having given the matter some thought, and come to one conclusion.

"Why is that?" Hotch could hear the defensive tone in his voice.

"You're afraid of letting her get too close. And she could, much closer than JJ or anyone else. Probably even Hayley. And you know it, too. It's why you act as if you don't trust her, when in reality—it's yourself you don't trust, not around her, anyway."

"You're wrong." Hotch said.

"Really? I can't see you, but I know you're lying there beside her hoping she'll move just a little closer, close enough that you can hold her, touch her, but don't have to admit to anyone or yourself that it's because you want to. You're hands are clenched, your hyper vigilant, aware of her every sigh, her breath, her scent. Strawberry shampoo. I've noticed she's switched scents. I like it. You do, too. You want to touch her, are dying to touch her, but know you can't, you shouldn't. Am I right? I understand, why do you think I'm way over here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hotch denied, though everything the other man said was dead on target.

"Keep on with the denial." Rossi went on, though he could sense his friend's irritation. "But if anything I've learned from three failed marriages, Aaron. Take your chances when they are presented to you."

"Now you sound like a movie." Hotch snapped, as Emily moved even closer, almost tucking her head beneath his chin. Her knee rose and came precariously close to hitting him between the legs. It was a sure sign—to him, anyway—that she wasn't used to sleeping with someone. It inexplicably pleased him, that thought. "A Lifetime Movie."

"Good thing we're not fictional characters, isn't it." Rossi snickered as he parroted JJ's earlier question.

"Good night, Rossi." Hotch said, blocking his groin with one hand when Emily moved yet again, turning on her side facing Reid.

She stayed that way for a while, long after Rossi's soft snores began to fill the barn, the blanket tangled around her in what had to be an uncomfortable position. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't just leave her like that. He carefully pulled the thin blanket free, then spread it over her, tucking it around the side closest to Reid. He looked down at her, seeing the lightning flashing through the cracks in the walls, as the storm moved nearer, and reflecting off the midnight of her hair. Rossi's words about his ex trailed through his mind as she started to squirm yet again and he cautiously dropped one arm over her stomach and slowly slid her back toward him. He tucked her tightly against him and settled down behind her. It wasn't long before he relaxed enough to sleep, there curled around her, keeping her warm, keeping her safe—keeping her still.

Rossi sat up, wide awake, as he had been since his and Aaron's conversation. He looked at his friend and colleague, and then the woman sleeping tucked in his friend's arms, and he had to smile. It was the first time he could remember seeing just that look of contentment on the younger man's face and he wondered briefly just what would come out of this night.

After all, didn't movies imitate real life on occasion?

This might not be a horror movie—but it might definitely be a romance.

And he, Rossi, probably wasn't the villain after all.

***

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH

Emily was finally relaxed. Finally had the horrific images from a North Dakota stone mill out of her head. She lay back, feeling the sun beating down on her skin, the soft sand beneath her blanket just the right firmness, the sound of the waves cresting along the beach washing away the horrific screams of a sixteen-year-old girl. Of Emily's own startled scream.

It was a perfect day.

"You look so hedonistic." Garcia snorted beside her from her own position on the blanket between her two best friends. She eyed her dark friend, taking in the curls that rioted madly, and the look of contented pleasure on the older woman's face.

"Mmmm. I feel wonderful. I'm glad you suggested this." Emily stretched her legs out, pointing her toes toward the ocean just a few yards away.

It was still a bit too cold to swim—even though the morning was unseasonably warm; the sun and the sand—and her two blonde friends—made this the most perfect escape from what had turned out to be a hellish case. It had been awful, the bodies of teenagers deliberately crushed beneath tons of thick, heavy stones. Emily herself had fallen down one of the enclaves. Had scraped her leg and bruised her hip before catching herself eighteen feet down on a root. Derek and Rossi had had to come help her up. It had not been one of her better BAU moments. But it could have been worse—it had been another twenty feet down if she'd not caught herself.

But that was in the past now. And all she had to do was stretch out on the warm sand, letting the sun kiss the skin not covered by her red bikini—that Garcia had insisted she wear special for today. JJ was in a similar pose, though her blue bikini wasn't half as revealing as Emily's. Of course, Emily had just a bit more to reveal than the girl-next-door blonde. Garcia had picked out JJ's suit, too, since neither of the other two women had even owned a swimsuit. Garcia had purchased both women's suits and had simply shown up on Emily's door, before dragging her to JJ's.

Neither woman had really protested too much. So they all found themselves spread out over the sand, enjoying the completely care-free joys of Virginia Beach. No UNSUBs, no screams, no horror, just sand and sun. All day.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch watched Spencer and Derek through the office window, smiling to himself as Spencer engaged in what could only be another long spiel. Derek just waved his hand in the younger man's direction, a look of impatience on his face.

Hotch doubted either man wanted to be there. Any more than he did. But the BAU's team A had to have at least three members present at any one time, and the girls had deserved the day off. Especially after North Dakota. Especially Emily.

She'd nearly given him a heart attack when she'd fallen. He'd wanted nothing more than to run to her. Make sure she was ok. Pull her up and hold her. But he knew she wouldn't welcome it, so he'd stayed back. Let Morgan swoop in to the rescue. It was always Morgan she turned to. Morgan or Dave.

But it had been him she'd been curled around in North Dakota. Him she'd lain so close to. Him, who'd held her through her nightmares.

Him she'd woken up on. Him who'd seen the intense blush, the intense embarrassment, that covered her sleep-softened face. Him she'd backed away from as if scalded.

Did she really dislike him that much?

He'd woken early, long before anyone else had. The hay had been under his shirt, and he'd always had an allergy to the grass. He'd wanted nothing more than to reach back and scratch the hell out of his skin. But he couldn't. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around someone. And he'd known immediately it wasn't Hayley. He'd not slept beside her in nearly nine months—or was it ten?

He'd opened his eyes and saw dark curls. Smelled the sweet scent of strawberries. Known exactly who it was curled over his chest, her knee raised over his hip. Known exactly whose chest was pressed tightly against his side.

He'd woken up harder than he had in months. Just because his subordinate was pressed against him. Prentiss of all people. The one person on his team who'd confused him since the day she'd arrived. The one person he really couldn't read all that well. Whom he'd not trusted, and who'd obviously cared very little for him.

Dave had called it right—Hotch realized he had been hyper-aware, hyper-vigilant of Emily—especially since he'd separated from Hayley, and then divorced. He'd merely disguised it as being protective of his unit, his team, against whom he'd thought was a Strauss-planted mole.

He'd learned his lesson there, the day she'd informed him of her hatred for politics—and those who played them. How she'd let him know without saying a word that she considered him one of those political players. How her added sir had contained just enough disdain to be nearing disrespectful.

Her feelings apparently hadn't changed toward him since that day. And if he was brutally honest, it was his fault. He'd ruthlessly shunned her every overture of friendship, kept a cold shield between them that she couldn't have missed.

So she'd went in a different direction, treating him no differently than he'd treated her—all the while becoming an integral part of the team around him. It was Derek she'd trusted to climb down and get her off that drop. Rossi's instructions that she'd heard, even over Hotch's. She'd barely even acknowledged that he was there, too.

She treated him as if he wasn't even there. Just the boss she had to report to everyday, but no one special. No one she wanted to even try to get to know.

She treated him just like he'd treated her, and who could blame her?

But it had felt so good having her pressed against him. He'd laid there for nearly two hours that night—deep in the middle of the night when she'd whimpered in her sleep and he'd pulled her closer, thinking, dreaming—fantasizing. It had felt so right lying there replaying Dave's words in his head over and over as he'd stroked her back. "You're afraid of letting her get too close. And she could, much closer than JJ or anyone else. Probably even Hayley. And you know it, too. It's why you act as if you don't trust her, when in reality—it's yourself you don't trust, not around her, anyway."

Was Dave right? Was he so aloof with her because he was afraid?

What did it even matter? Nothing would come of this new… awareness…he had for her. Nothing could. Neither was the type to let something as base as sex interfere with their careers.

As if she'd even look in his direction. As if she'd even need to. Hotch wasn't a blind man, he'd seen the way some of the local LEOs had looked at her. Had seen the smiles, the casual brushes against her. He had no clue if she'd ever taken any of them up on their offers, but he knew there had probably been plenty. So why would she ever want someone who'd treated her the way he had? Someone with his kind of baggage? She wouldn't.

And he doubted he could ever change her mind—they weren't even anywhere close to being something as simple as friends—there was no way they could move to being lovers. His musings were interrupted by a knock and he turned to see Dave.

"Hey, Aaron. I've just finished my report on South Dakota. Hell of a case." Dave sank into the chair across from Hotch's desk and crossed one ankle over his knee. "It was a little too close. Emily could have been killed, could have died."

"I know." Hotch's face grew even more grim. "And that damned Paterson will be facing an IA board for being drunk on the job."

"If he hadn't bumped her." Rossi said. "Still, we probably shouldn't have let Derek be the one to escort him to his chief's vehicle. I heard they might file a complaint against him."

Derek had been the first one to realize the LEO was drunk. Had seen the man's hands as they'd reached for Emily. Had seen Emily move to evade the drunken groping. Had watched his friend fall over the edge of a forty foot drop.

Once they'd pulled the woman up to safety, and she was being fussed over by JJ and Rossi, Derek had went after Paterson, fists balled and ready to flay the man. Hotch had started to berate his agent until the reasons for Derek's ire had been explained to him. Hotch had then given Derek permission to lead the younger officer to the waiting squad car, and to take the long way around. They'd brought Paterson up on assault charges—and Hotch meant to see to it they stuck. Emily could have been killed, right there beside them.

And it ate at Hotch that it was Morgan who felt he had the right to defend her. Rossi who felt he had the right to fuss over her. Hotch had never been jealous of Morgan in the entire time he'd worked with the younger man. Never envied Dave in the entire time he'd known the older man. Until this case. Until he'd let himself see her as more than just a teammate, a subordinate.

And now he knew how he felt, and could do nothing about it. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"The complaint will go nowhere." Hotch said in response to Dave's words. "Paterson endangered the lives of all who were on that cliff—and could have seriously injured one of our agents."

"My heart stopped seeing her go over that edge. Seeing her face when she realized she was going to fall." Rossi admitted, his eyes trained on the younger man's face. "I don't think I breathed until we realized she was only about halfway down."

Hotch nodded, not saying anything. Her eyes had met his, and the fear was something he'd be seeing in his dreams for a long time to come.

"And then to have her calling up to Morgan, laughing about him being her hero in real life." Rossi said, "If I was ten years younger, I'd be head over heels for that woman."

"Hmm." Hotch moved to sit behind his desk. His eyes didn't meet Dave's. "It was too close."

"Scared me." Rossi leaned forward a bit. "Scared you, too."

"Yes."

"I saw your face that morning." Rossi admitted. "After you woke. Saw the way you were looking at her."

"And?" Hotch's body tensed. What was Rossi getting at? Had he been that transparent?

"And? Are you going to do something about it? Go after her?" Rossi's tone was patient, slightly patronizing. "Make a move?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're free, she's free. Both the right age, have a lot in common. It makes sense." Rossi explained. "And I know you've noticed how attractive she is."

"She happens to be my subordinate."

"Like that doesn't happen all the time around here. Look at Jack Malone over in Missing Persons. Don't tell me you didn't know about him and that blonde on his team a few years back, or those two agents of his, now. And it happens a lot higher on the food chain than you—or Malone. Don't let the Bureau be an excuse."

"How about the fact that she and I haven't exactly been too congenial in the time she's been here. Did you see her face when she woke and realized just who she was wrapped around?" Hotch informed him. "I don't think she likes me any more than she does Erin Strauss."

"And whose fault is that, Aaron? So what are you going to do about it?"

"Absolutely nothing." Hotch said, firmly, before voicing his thoughts, his fears. "What would be the point of even trying? She'd never see me as anything more than her supervisor—and one she doesn't even like, at that. And add the pressure from this job—I don't see it ever happening. No matter how much I might want it to."

"You, Aaron Hotchner, are a bit of a coward. But we'll leave it at that for now."

Before Hotch could retaliate, the phone on Hotch's desk rang. "Hotchner."

Both men moved to an alert-stage, knowing the call most likely signaled a new case. And half the team was missing, off doing God only knew what. Hotch disconnected the phone after saying, "We'll be there shortly. I need to gather my team."

"Where?" Rossi asked, standing.

"Virginia Beach PD. The sixth body just washed ashore. It looks to be the work of a Satanic cult." Hotch's mouth twisted, wryly. They both knew Satanic cult killings didn't exist.

"I'll grab the boys and meet you in the conference room. I'll have Derek call the girls." Rossi said as he exited Hotch's office. "And they were so looking forward to having the day off."

"That's the job." Hotch said, grimly. "We all know it."

"I know, but damn—don't they deserve a break once and a while?"

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Emily was asleep, Garcia determined. Her friend lay face down, arms pillowing her dark-head, as the sun beat down upon them. Garcia's eyes caught on the exposed skin of Emily's left hip, where the flesh was red, raw, and bruised from her nasty tumble off a cliff.

Once again, it had been too close. But Wonder Woman had persevered, and was in one piece in front of Penelope—sound asleep on the sand. The sand JJ was currently playing in.

"I always loved the beach." The younger blonde admitted, digging a little trench. "Not for the water. Just for the sand. I always wanted a sandbox—but my mother didn't think it was girly enough."

"So we don't have a sandbox—but we have Virginia Beach." Garcia said, conspiratorially.

"We're being stared at." JJ said, matter-of-factly, motioning with one sand-covered hand to a trio of men who'd been playing beach volley ball. They were in their thirties, maybe, strong, and tanned. And if JJ and Garcia weren't already taken, they might have engaged in some mild beach flirtation.

"Bet they'll come over here." Garcia said, seeing the way the men were eying their little party. "Wake Em up."

JJ shook Emily awake and the brunette semi-consciously rolled on her back, showing the trio of men exactly what had been pressed to the sand. She sat up, lazily, pushing the hair—curling wildly—off of her forehead. She looked nothing like a cool, collected professional FBI profiler in one of the top units in the country—she looked like the centerfold every male lusted after. Garcia and JJ knew she wasn't aware of it, had probably never been fully aware of it. She slid her dark glasses over her eyes and looked around. "Have I mentioned what a perfect day this is?"

"Well, we're about to have company." JJ said, snickering as the white volleyball the men had been tossing around landed a few feet from her pseudo sand-castle. Sure enough, it wasn't ten seconds before the three men were at their blanket.

But it wasn't two minutes before JJ's cell phone rang where it lay on the blanket beside her. She laughed politely at the man trying to charm her into ignoring the call. "I really need to answer this, it's probably my boss."

He smiled, flirtatiously, as the conversation around them stalled. Garcia and Emily were attempting to send the other two men packing, but they weren't exactly taking the hint as they flirted humorously, insistently.

"Jareau." JJ answered, "Hey, Dave. Hang on, let me put you on speaker."

JJ flipped the button, and Dave's voice sounded. "We have a case, and we're going to need you three in. Possible Satanic cult near Virginia Beach. How soon can you three meet us there?"

"Dammit, Dave. We're already at Virginia Beach." Emily said, sighing. Ignoring the three beach-Romeos hovering near her feet. Most of the attention had been focused on her from the get-go, ever since Garcia and JJ had admitted to the three men that they were involved. "It is our day off, you know."

"I know." Dave said, apologetically. "But it's a bit of a fiasco. Team B was already up there—and two members of the team managed to get themselves shot, and another is out with food poisoning. We've been called in to clean things up—and quickly."

"Dave. We're at the beach. No weapons, no badges." JJ told him.

Garcia snorted, looking at her two friends, as the three men wondered away in search of other prey. Nothing like women talking about cults and weapons to frighten guys off. "No clothes."

"Hell." Emily said, reminded of what she was wearing—wasn't wearing. "Dave—you'll have to stop by my place and get me some clothes. We have nothing suitable for work here with us. I have a ready-bag packed. Morgan has a key. Closet behind the front door, my gun and badge are in beside it."

"And I have a bag by my desk. My weapon and badge are in the top drawer, there's a spare key taped to the bottom of the bottom drawer." JJ added.

"Can you all meet us at the northern end of the beach? We'll call Detective Sparks and let him know we have agents in the area." Rossi said.

"Sure, but Dave—we don't have our ID's." Emily said, as she, Garcia, and JJ started gathering their beach equipment. "Make sure Sparks knows that, ok."

"We'll see you as soon as we can." Dave said before disconnecting.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia shared a look and sighed. So much for a day at the beach.

It took Hotch, Dave, Derek and Reid three hours to get to Virginia Beach, even with sirens and police escort. It was nearly one o'clock before Hotch pulled the SUV to a stop. "Dave, find JJ and the others. Reid, Morgan, let's find Detective Sparks."

"I don't understand why we couldn't just go to the Virginia Beach police station?" Reid asked. "Why did we have to come to the beach first?"

"The location of the body is supposed to be significant—according to Sommers." Sommers was the SSAIC in charge of BAU team B. Hotch and the three men hurried down the beach, being met by a trio of LEOs.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm Detective Sparks. The body is this way." The spokesman said.

"Detective Sparks, three members of my team were supposed to meet us here." Hotch said as they approached the crowd of people at the very tip of the beach. "Where are they?"

"Agent Prentiss and her friends are with SSAIC Sommers and his men, sir. They've been waiting for your arrival." The LEO said. "Your, uh, Agent Prentiss, is not too happy. Sir."

"What the hell's going on?" Dave asked, surprised. He'd never expect to hear someone comment on Emily's temper. He didn't think she had one. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She's fine, sir." Sparks said, giving the LEO on his left a glare when the man snorted.

Hotch's face tightened as they got closer to the crowd. As his mind played over possible scenarios that could anger Emily. Not that he actually knew what would be able to provoke Agent Emily Prentiss.

"So what happened?" Dave demanded again.

"Well, there was a bit of confusion. Seems your girls don't exactly look like FBI agents and some of my men didn't realize they were authorized to be there. Until SSAIC Sommers stepped in." Sparks said, "And I want to sincerely apologize for my men, once again."

"Shouldn't you be apologizing to my agents?" Hotch asked, bending down to cross under the police tape.

"I did." The man said, not telling the BAU agent that he'd even offered dinner as an apology. The furious dark-haired beauty hadn't answered. But he'd try again before she returned to the Bureau. Sparks was nothing if not persistent.

Hotch didn't hear. He barely breathed. He didn't notice Rossi's choked laugh, Derek's awe-struck curse. Spencer's comical squeak. Didn't register his own heat-filled curse that escaped sharply, unchecked.

All he saw was dark curls and creamy skin. Red material that was barely there, and long, long legs being kissed by the worn fray of extremely short, short cut-off denim shorts. It was indecent, had to be illegal—it definitely wasn't the coolly composed ambassador's daughter he'd expected to find.

All he saw was SSA Emily Prentiss in a way he'd only hoped to see her before. But God, he'd never forget it.

Long, lean, trim—curved, he never would have guessed she'd had that hidden under those professional suits or those army fatigues she habitually wore. And she'd been pressed against him closer than skin.

He didn't even see JJ dressed in her own skimpy blue tankini, didn't even notice Garcia, dressed in a flattering green one-piece of her own where they stood beside the older agent.

All he noticed was Emily, surrounded by a good half-dozen LEOs and SSAIC Sommers and his two-man team. Men who should have been working, but…weren't.

It took him a second to start breathing again, and when he did he turned toward the other male members of his team. Rossi stood beside him, laughing his fool head off.

"Dave. We are at a murder scene." Hotch chided, irritated, angry at the way the older man's eyes hadn't left her. "Keep it in check."

Derek just stood staring, an appreciative grin on his face. He'd long suspected his teammate of being dynamite under her clothes—but seeing her in an unbelievable bikini was a bit out of his imagination. Not that he was complaining. About any one of the female members of his team. There was definitely a reason why Derek Morgan loved the beach, and this was three very clear examples of why. "Why, uh, haven't we ever gone to the beach as a team before?"

Reid just stood gawking, occasionally squeaking out a garbled name now and then. He finally was able to speak somewhat coherently. "Morgan. Duh, uh, ummm. Why are we here again?"

"Pull it together, kid." Morgan advised. "They won't appreciate us gawking."

Words he needed to hear, Hotch thought to himself as he moved closer. He was not standing on some damned beach staring salaciously at his subordinate. Not. No matter how good she looked.

Or how angry.

He watched as her eyes flashed at one of Sommers' men. Watched as her shoulders stiffened—as she snapped out a comment. As she turned at JJ's direction and spotted the male members of their team.

She stalked in their direction, meeting them halfway, her sunglasses pushing the hair out of her face, and allowing him to see just how those big, dark eyes flashed.

He'd never seen her that angry before. He'd seen her coldly ruthless in interrogation, seen her stubbornly determined during a case. Seen her melancholy after a bad case. Seen her worried about a team mate in trouble. Seen her indignant after he'd accused her of having a hidden agenda. Seen her embarrassed and wary after waking in his arms. But he'd never seen her that fiery angry.

And it almost made him take a step back. Almost. "Agent Prentiss. Sorry to have to ruin your day off."

She nodded, not really looking at him. Not really acknowledging him more than required by protocol and common courtesy.

The way he'd always treated her.

She turned to Derek, who carried her ready bag slung over his shoulder. Who stood, leering comically, and grinning. "Well, Em…"

"One word, Derek Morgan. Just one word. We've already heard it, and more, in the last three damned hours." She threatened, as JJ and Garcia moved in closer to grab their own things that the men had retrieved.

"Gotcha." Derek handed her the bag, and raised his hands in surrender. But the sight was even better up close, and he had a feeling he'd never look at his friend the same way again. "Here's everything you requested."

"Finally." Emily muttered, unzipping her bag and pulling out a t-shirt and pair of pants, while JJ and Garcia did the same, Emily all the while grumbling under her breath so low that the male members of the team strained to hear. "Damned leering, juvenile, perverted, eight-handed, small-brained apes. Act like they've never seen a female before. Are they all horny idiots in Virginia Beach? Acting like damned adolescents."

Hotch's brows rose, but she didn't see. She pulled the shirt over her head quickly, all the while mumbling curses and invectives, ending with "Can't even enjoy one lousy day at the beach. One lousy damned day. Son of a bitch."

Derek turned around, back facing the women, as Garcia and JJ—as well as Emily—quickly dressed in more work-appropriate attire. Derek laughed, egging Emily's rant on. She continued, adding in a bit about laughing monkeys who thought ogling apes were funny, and if they didn't watch it, they'd get what they deserved. Dave burst out laughing as well.

Hotch looked at Rossi, his surprise showing, and the older man just laughed all the harder. Rossi ignored the glare the woman sent his way. His words were thrown over his shoulder as he turned around to give the women a modicum of privacy."Sorry to ruin your day, Emily. So what did Sparks have to apologize for?"

If possible, Emily's face got even darker as she dropped the denim shorts right there in the midst of the team, not giving them any more warning. Hotch hadn't the time to turn around, and then he didn't think to. He nearly swallowed his tongue and he heard Reid's sharp intake of breath. The boy hadn't turned around quick enough, either, and had seen more of his colleague than he'd ever expected to see.

Her swimsuit bottom was slightly more decorous than Hotch would have expected from the daring cut of the top—such that it was, and was covered quickly as she pulled on the dark fatigues. He was vaguely aware of JJ's own striptease beside her, but it wasn't the younger woman who'd caused him to nearly sink to his knees. Soon, the only thing left for Emily to don was her gun belt and shoes and socks, which she made quick work of, using Rossi's helping hand as a balance. It took maybe two minutes for her to go from goddess of the bikini to professional agent. The longest two minutes of Hotch's life. "You can all turn around, now."

And she didn't even act as if she knew he—they—were even there. As if she'd not noticed that of all the men—he hadn't turned around at all. Had watched the entire show. As if having him there didn't matter. As if he was a cold, sexless, robot that she didn't even care saw her.

As if he was nobody important. No one worth being concerned over.

And he wasn't. He was just her boss, the supervisor she was required to report to. Not a friend like Morgan, like Rossi, Reid, Garcia, or JJ. Just the boss she didn't even like, didn't even acknowledge, didn't even notice.

And that put an end to any fantasy he may have had lurking beneath his skin since the North Dakota barn, about him and her in a much more than superior-subordinate relationship.

Dave had been wrong. Hotch might have been developing feelings for her—or at least a good, healthy dose of lust—but Emily Prentiss would never reciprocate those feelings.

Today just proved that.

And he'd just have to live with it.

***

EMILY'S MR. RIGHT

MID MAY 2008

"Mr. Right." Emily paused a moment, contemplating the endless wisdom found at the bottom of a half empty beer bottle. It was the same bar they'd been in before—the night FBI agent Brad tried to pick her up over a year ago. She'd known right away he wasn't her Mr. Right. Still, here they were again. Contemplating romance. Sometimes JJ and Garcia were relentless—and Emily's sex life seemed to be a topic they both found fascinating.

Not that Emily agreed. Her sex life was one of the least fascinating subjects she'd ever known.

"Come on, chickie. What is your Mr. Right like? Every woman has at least a vague idea." Garcia said, leaning in. The black and white feather in her hair pointed to the sky and with her platinum blond hair she was such an opposite of the dark headed woman sitting across from her that the bar's other patrons were taken aback to see them all together. Add in sweet, girl-next-door JJ and the sight was so enigmatic that they were bound to garner looks—especially from the bar's male patrons.

They were used to stares, both on the job and off, so they paid them little mind.

"Come on, Em. Spill." JJ said, laughing at the uncomfortable look on the older woman's face. Emily was one of the most secretive people JJ knew—and considering where she worked, that said something. JJ wasn't a profiler but she'd learned a lot from those who were. This little insight into Emily would potentially explain a lot.

"Tall." Emily said, cryptically.

"Something besides physical." Garcia said, leaning forward even more.

"Dark."

"Let me guess—and handsome?" JJ snickered, sipping her ginger ale. She'd volunteered as designated driver, and one hand slipped beneath the table to rest on the reason why. She'd yet to tell her friends.

"Older."

"How much?" Garcia asked, actually taking out a PDA to take notes. How else was she supposed to find Prentiss a man if she didn't know what her friend wanted?

"What the hell are you doing?" Emily squeaked.

"Taking notes, chickie. I'm doing a random study of attraction. Didn't I tell you?" She strove to look as innocent as possible.

Emily didn't buy it. "Five to ten years. Someone with maturity, but not social security."

"Ooh, good one." JJ said. Sometimes she forgot Emily was considerably older than she. She certainly didn't look it.

"A natural leader, but not overbearing." Emily didn't know why she continued, but these were her closest friends, so what could it hurt?

"Tall, dark, and alpha. Gotcha." Garcia said, stylus flying over her small LCD screen.

"Composed. I don't want a high strung person."

"Okkkk." Garcia drew the syllable out. "Stable."

"Responsible, caring, intelligent, understanding," Emily was giving this some serious consideration. "He'd have to understand politics and be able to handle it, but I do not want a politician."

"Tall, dark, wise to the game. Keep going." JJ said, tapping her fingers as her mind ran through all of the men that met Prentiss's dream man's profile. Her mind kept focusing on two that she knew well, although one was slightly out of the mentioned age range. Still, that left one possibility…

"Not overly effusive, but with depth. Someone who understands the human mind—and what we do."

Emily sighed, leaning back in her chair. She knew what she'd described was next to impossible to find. Maybe her standards were too exacting.

"Someone successful who would understand the need for me to be gone with the job so often, and that it is possibly a dangerous job." She remembered the last relationship she'd had, approximately six months after she'd first joined the BAU. When she'd been injured on the job—the case with the dying father using his son to lure women to their deaths—he'd lit out like his trousers were on fire. She hadn't heard from him since. "But not necessarily someone in law enforcement, just one with a clear understanding of what we do—and who doesn't mind being unconsciously profiled. At all times."

"Ok. Tall, dark, handsome, older, alpha, leader, emotionally deep, understanding, intelligent, political know-how, and accustomed to profilers. Want much?" Garcia said, pushing buttons furiously.

"I know. Completely impossible to find." Emily's sigh was filled with such dejection that the two blond women patted her hands comfortingly.

"Not impossible, chickie, just rare." Garcia said.

"Ummm." JJ began, not really knowing how to make the suggestion. The man she'd thought of probably hadn't ever occurred to Emily. The two hadn't exactly become the best of friends since Emily'd joined the team.

"What, baby girl? You know someone who fits the bill?" Garcia's voice rose slightly with her excitement.

"Well. Um, Em?" JJ was unusually reticent. "You do realize, don't you…"

"What? Realize what?" Emily was completely clueless as to what the younger woman was thinking.

"You do realize that your Mr. Right…well…you just described…"

"Who?" Garcia and Emily nearly shouted, drawing the attention of most of the nearby customers, though the others couldn't hear what the women were discussing.

The four men at the table nearly thirty feet away looked at the colleagues, and smiles touched their faces. Rossi, Reid, Morgan, and Hotch all paused a moment and watched the three women of their team engaged in what could only be an intense discussion.

"Wonder what their talking about so intently?" Rossi wondered aloud, before the men went back to their conversation about the latest case.

"Probably just girl talk…who's dating whom, etc." Morgan said, recognizing the looks on their faces from similar expressions he'd seen on his younger sisters' throughout the years.

"Glad they're having a good time. Since they're day at the beach was ruined." Hotch murmured, watching one particular woman's face. He'd watched her a lot lately, trying to read her. Know what she was thinking. All because he'd woken with her held tight in his arms, in a North Dakota barn. Had it only been four nights ago? What a difference a day could make. Or four, in this case.

"Yeah. But I wonder what they are talking about." Morgan said, watching the play of surprise and shock flit across Emily's face.

"I don't know, but I am not brave enough to go ask." Reid said decisively as the four men turned back to their own conversation.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia were completely unaware of the men's attention, and the latter two were about ready to strangle their younger colleague.

"JJ…who?" Garcia demanded, dropping her stylus to the table and grabbing JJ's sleeve and pulling her toward her.

"Well…Em, you just described your perfect man as being…Just… Like…Hotch." JJ finally said, not missing the surprised looks on the other two women's faces.

"What? Oh? Oh, son of a bitch…" Emily laid her head on the table beside her beer, and shook it back and forth. It was true, so true. Sadly true. Of all the men in the world, why did the one she described sound just like the coldly aloof superior she didn't even like? She felt the commiserating pats on her back from her friends but it didn't matter. She looked up at them before continuing. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yep." Garcia said, looking over toward the man in question. "You described him perfectly. So what are you gonna do about that?"

"Absolutely nothing. Maybe he sounds like that—but you're forgetting one little bitty thing—Hotch and I aren't exactly close. So it ain't gonna happen. You two aren't going to say a word. Remember, I am the senior agent here, and I can—and will—make you both disappear."

"Un huh. Empty threats." Garcia winked.

"Veiled promises, my friend. Promises."

***
FOR NOW AND FOREVER

LATE MAY 2008

David Rossi wanted to hit his friend. Hit him squarely on the back of his head—or give him a swift kick in the behind. What was Aaron Hotchner thinking?

Last week the team had been stranded in North Dakota and had been forced to bunk down in an old barn. They'd slept crammed together in an old horse stall on a pile of hay. Aaron had held Emily so close, Rossi had been convinced the other man had finally figured things out. Figured out that he should just go for it with Emily. And the way he'd stared at the dark-eyed beauty on a sandy beach just hours later had convinced Rossi Hotch's feelings had been cinched tight.

Instead, the man had barely looked at the pretty dark haired agent once that British piece of work had come strolling out of her office in the New York building. Sure, the woman resembled Hayley—on the outside. On the inside she was just another career-powered ladder climber. She'd wanted something from Aaron—and Rossi'd known it had something to do with Derek. Rumor had it they were considering him for her spot if she failed to find these shooters.

Aaron had been all over Joyner like a groupie on a rock star. Rossi wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Emily, JJ, and Garcia had been exchanging looks of speculation.

Rossi'd wondered then if Emily ever even fully realized her own feelings for the man, as her gorgeous dark eyes had lingered on Hotch as he'd leaned over Joyner's shoulder. Lingered just a little too long.

If Rossi thought she'd ever look at him that way—he'd trample right over his long time friend to get to her.

He watched the exchange between Joyner and Hotchner through the glass window of the office and he sighed. Knowing he was going to have to have another frank discussion with the younger man. Emily deserved Hotch to be one way or the other.

If he wanted her—he needed to realize it. If not—he needed to stop acting so drawn to her.

Rossi had to admit it, Emily Prentiss was probably the one person in the BAU that he couldn't read clearly. Spencer, Morgan, JJ, Garcia, even Hotchner—they were all clear to Rossi. But Emily played it so close to her chest, never let anything slip to her coworkers. How did she feel about Hotchner?

Rossi would try to figure it out.

Hotch left Joyner's office and entered the men's restroom and Rossi made his decision—and his move. He checked carefully to ensure no one else was in the restroom before turning the lock on the door. "Aaron. What the hell are you doing?"

"Dave?" Hotch asked, surprised, though his voice barely changed. "I'm washing my hands. Does that surprise you?"

"I meant with that Joyner woman." Rossi said.

"She's a close friend."

"No, she's a carbon copy of your ex-wife." Rossi accused. "Three days ago you were all wrapped around Agent Prentiss. And you looked happy, man. Happier than you have since my return."

"That just happened. She was seeking warmth and we rolled together unconsciously." Hotchner said, getting defensive.

"You weren't asleep when you wrapped your arms around her." Rossi argued. "You were fully aware of your actions, and don't deny it. At least not to yourself."

"Whom I am attracted to isn't really your business, Dave." Hotch said, more furious with his friend then he'd ever been. Even though Dave was right.

"Admitted, it's not. But you are one of my closest friends. Hell, you're one of my few friends. That's why I am telling you. Quit looking to your past. Do you know what I wouldn't give for a woman who actually understood what we did every day? And you've got one right there in front of you! One who's sexy, vibrant, compassionate, and loving—who is virtually crying out for a special kind of man. Yet you're choosing a woman who looks like your ex-wife. What does that tell you about you?" Rossi said, heatedly. "You're insane if you let her go!"

"What's between Prentiss and myself is strictly professional. I admire her capabilities as an agent." Hotch said, even though he knew Rossi knew the truth.

"You're a liar. And worse, you know it. We've four failed marriages between us Aaron—and four women who didn't understand a damned thing about this job. If she'd look at me the way she looks at you, just once…I'd tell the bureau to screw it's fraternization rules and take her to Aruba. Or my cabin. She likes the woods, doesn't she?"

"I don't know what to do." Hotch admitted softly. "The man who was with Hayley was a different man than the one I am today. Twenty-one years ago, Dave. I've been with one woman for more than two decades, and now I don't know where to even begin—if I even should begin."

"First, stop shutting her out." Rossi said, leaning a hip on the granite sink. "Out there today, you barely acknowledged her. Pretty much just handed her over to Detective Cooper. You barely even introduced her to Agent Joyner. And—you still insist on calling her Prentiss, when every other member of the team—with the exception of Garcia who prefers her last name—you use their first names. You know she's noticed, yet you do it anyway. And I heard how she joined the unit. That has to add up for her. Give the woman a break. Take a chance and actually try to get to know her."

"I know her."

"No, you don't. You don't know that she likes Kurt Vonnegut, that she named her cat after him. That she visits friends in New York every free chance she gets, and she likes to escape to the parks and woods when things get too tough. You don't know that she walks to the playground after we have terrible cases involving children, just so she can see kids not touched by the monsters she goes and dreams about every night. You don't know that Garcia sees her as something like Wonder Woman, JJ sees her as the big sister she never had—you don't let yourself see how she mother's Spencer, how Morgan treats her like his best friend, and you don't see how whenever you have a bad day, she's the person right beside you."

"You know her that well? In what, the four months you've been with the team?" Hotch said, defensively. He knew what Rossi said was true, all of it. But he hadn't realized his friend's feelings ran that deep. Or that Rossi had noticed that much about Emily.

"Yes. She's told me." Rossi said. "Because I talk to her. Because I watch the team, watch her. She just fits here, Hotch. She'd fit with you, too. Probably much better than Hayley ever did. Let me ask you something. When you would go home to Hayley, did you have to turn your work self off, and your family self on? Did you feel like you had to be two different men? Imagine going home with Emily, Hotch. You wouldn't have to be two men. She'd understand both. You'd be free to be both at the same time. You know how stupid you'd be to turn that away?"

Aaron thought about his words long after they'd left the restroom, going about their business of solving the case. The case was proving just as frustrating as his feelings. Was Rossi right? Had he missed seeing something there with Emily? Had he even looked that close since the divorce? At all?

They worked well together, their styles were extremely complimentary. Would that translate into a personal relationship, as well?

Rossi had surprised him, all the information he'd gleaned about Emily after only four months. When had she gotten a cat? He'd not seen signs of a pet when they'd been on the Joseph Smith case. What else did Rossi know about Emily that he didn't?

Had he even let himself stop to observe anything about her since the day she'd first showed up in the BAU? He could honestly say that he didn't think he had.

The day passed too quickly, with yet another murder. Derek had been right—but he'd been out of line to voice his opinions the way he had. Even though Hotch could sense the rest of the team felt the exact same way. The next day, saw everyone on the streets in pairs, Hotch included.

Then everything hit the shit. He'd never forget how his blood had frozen when Emily's voice had came over the radio, saying they were in pursuit of the suspect. She was out there with Detective Cooper, a man he didn't know, chasing after at least one of their seven suspects.

Then he'd heard the fear and panic in her voice as she called for backup, called an officer down call. He'd heard her voice through the radio, button still depressed, as she told Cooper to think of his wife and family. Told him to hold on. Told him to stay with her.

All Hotch could think about once he'd arrived on scene was that if Emily had rounded the corner ahead of Cooper, it would have been her blood at his feet. Just like all he'd been able to think about a few days ago was how her body would have looked if she had fallen completely off a North Dakota cliff. About how they could have lost her. He could have lost her.

And he hadn't even known she'd had a cat.

He didn't want her life to be such a mystery to him. Not any longer.

The rest of the day was tense, everyone worried about Cooper. Emily was the first to figure it out, her and Rossi. Figured out what it meant, how the UNSUBs were gauging response times. The only bright spot was when JJ'd told everyone her news earlier.

At least someone on his team had found happiness.

He accepted Kate's invitation for dinner out of politeness. Since the earlier shooting, and his fear for his agent, he just didn't want to look at the woman who looked like Hayley.

Not with Emily's voice ringing in his ears. Emily's wounded eyes staring at the body of the young man she'd killed filling his mind.

He hadn't even asked her how she was doing. Kate had distracted him, claiming she needed his invaluable assistance.

So he'd left Emily to Morgan's care. He knew Morgan would see that she was ok, Morgan and Rossi. She was close to them.

He opened the door for Agent Joyner, led her to her SUV. He wondered briefly where Agent Prentiss had ended up for the night. If she was alone or with Morgan or Garcia. Why was it that he was just now noticing how alone Emily was?

Dave Rossi watched Hotchner and the British woman as they walked out of the building just slightly ahead of him. Had his words meant nothing to Hotchner?

Dave had honestly thought Hotch would have been with Emily. She'd had one horrible day, had watched a guy she'd obviously liked and respected nearly bleed to death at her feet. She'd taken the life of a kid half her age. That was never easy. Dave made up his mind then and there—Hotchner didn't deserve Emily Prentiss.

And Emily Prentiss didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life alone. She needed a man who understood exactly what she saw each and every day. Someone she could talk to about anything. Someone like… David Rossi.

Dave climbed into his SUV, determined to find Emily and make sure she was ok. She shouldn't be alone after a day like today. No one should.

He turned the key. And the world exploded.

Aaron's mind was completely blank. The horror of the last hours had numbed him completely. He'd pulled one of his closest friends from a burning vehicle. The bandages on his hands were proof of that. And now they all sat, waiting. Waiting like they had for Elle and Penelope.

Someone touched his shoulder, lightly, reassuringly, before moving past him. He looked up to see it was Emily. She dropped to her knees in front of JJ, checking her friend closely, before handing her a box of juice from a vending machine. She smiled at Will, sitting beside JJ and holding the younger blonde close.

She moved to Morgan and Garcia next. The blonde woman sat, holding on to her reserve with everything she had. She always hated it when one of her super agents were hurting. And now they just didn't know.

Reid was a bundled mass of nerves. He couldn't sit still, his face paler than Emily had ever seen it—with one exception. She rubbed his shoulders softly. Handed him the pretzels she'd found in the vending machine. To Morgan she handed a cup of steaming coffee.

Then she was gone.

No one really noticed she'd left.

She entered the waiting room of the floor below the burn unit. Checking with the New York detectives waiting on news of Cooper's condition. His wife and child waited tensely, and her heart just broke seeing that little boy with his daddy's eyes.

She spent less than five minutes in that waiting room.

Then it was back up to the burn unit. She was outside the unit when she heard someone ask in a worried voice about David Rossi.

Emily approached the man, struck at the physical resemblance between him and David. This must be the younger brother.

"Hello. You must be Dave's brother." Emily said, walking up to the man. He was younger than Dave, closer in age to her than his brother. Any other time he would have been a handsome man, but worry shadowed his brown eyes. "I'm SSA Prentiss. I work with your brother."

"You're Emily? I'm Steven Rossi. David's youngest brother. Dave's mentioned you." The man turned toward her. "How is he?"

"We don't know. He was pulled from the vehicle. He, uh, wasn't conscious. We're waiting. If you'd like to come inside, the team is gathered." Emily placed a hand on the man's arm as he moved toward the glass door to the Burn Unit.

The man hesitated. "I'm not sure I want to go in there."

"I know. I didn't either." Emily admitted, knowing that the man would appreciate her frankness. "But it helps. Being with people who care, too."

"Dave speaks of you—and the team—every time he comes up." Steven said, abruptly. "About how you've accepted him."

"He's a part of the team." Emily said. "And he's a friend."

"Thanks." Steven said, "My brother will be the first to admit he doesn't have many of those."

Hotch was aware of Emily leaning over him, of her carefully placing a mug of coffee in the hand that he hadn't burnt. He didn't even look up at her, didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge. Just knew she was there.

Agent Joyner was in the corner, talking a mile a minute on her cell phone. Part of Aaron just wished she would take it outside.

Emily handed Will La Montaigne a blanket and he draped it over a sleeping JJ's shoulders. Morgan did the same with Garcia, with the blanket Emily handed him. She tossed a candy bar his way, and ordered him to eat it in a soft, hushed voice.

She took Reid's sixth cup of coffee away, and handed him a hardback copy of the Historian she'd found in the first floor lobby. It would take him less than three minutes to read it—but maybe it would distract him from his worry, momentarily.

She'd checked on Cooper's condition fifteen minutes earlier, and was reassured that he'd made it through surgery. One less worry.

She'd even answered Hotch's cell phone and spoken to his ex-wife. She'd somehow heard a member of the team had been injured and had been worried it was her son's father. Emily had told her all she knew, and Hayley had thanked her—after bidding her to take care of Aaron.

She'd made it a point to speak to Rossi's brother every so often. Just so he knew he wasn't alone in his worry for his brother.

Emily was exhausted. But she couldn't sit still. Couldn't sit there and wait with no purpose. Waiting like that always made her angry.

She stood again. The only one who looked up was Kate Joyner. Emily was liking the British agent even less by the minute. She'd shown no real concern for anyone—especially Dave. Emily wondered why she was even there. No one on the team had spoken to her. No one seemed to even care that she was there. Not even Hotchner. He just sat, staring at his hands.

She was just thankful he'd been there to pull Dave from the SUV. If he hadn't—they wouldn't be sitting there waiting for the news, one way or another.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, wrapping her slender fingers around his un-bandaged wrists. She squeezed lightly until he looked at her. "Do you need anything, sir?"

He shook his head, and she wondered if he even realized who was talking to him. She smiled softly, and placed the juice box in his hand. "Drink it. It's strawberry banana."

The man loved strawberries.

She waited a moment, making sure he did as she ordered, before standing and leaving the unit once again.

Only one person even noticed she'd left—again.

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

William La Montaigne hated this. He hated waiting for news about a Law Enforcement Agent wounded in the line of duty. Hated it even more when the poor bastard was somebody he knew. JJ was sleeping, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead before moving slightly, sliding her down to rest fully on the bench.

He needed to move around, shake his legs some.

He followed the path of the dark headed woman, almost haphazardly. He wasn't payin' much attention to where he was goin.

He found her in the chapel, but he didn't enter. She was a bit aloof with him, he wasn't as comfortable around her as he was some of the other team members.

But he had an idea of who should be with her. He just wondered if the man in question knew it.

He'd watched the team, watched how she'd taken care of everyone in the waiting room. How very few had thanked her—had even been aware of what she was doing.

Oh, they all cared about each other. Will knew that. It was just that they all handled stress and fear in different ways—they all apparently had a tendency to withdraw into themselves at difficult times. And he had a feeling Agent Prentiss was a charter member of the 'leave me alone' club.

He turned and headed back to the unit, detouring at the men's restroom first.

The man in question stood staring at himself in the mirror when Will entered.

"Agent Hotchner." Will acknowledged.

"Will." His voice was flat. He didn't feel up to making small talk.

"Don't take this the wrong way. I know you're JJ's boss and all. And I don't want to make any trouble." Will began.

"What are you talking about?" Hotch asked, still in that same flat voice. If Will was a lesser man, he'd have backed down quickly.

"One of your agents needs you." Will said. "She's had one hell of a bad day. Don't you think? First firing on a suspect. That one detective being shot. And now Agent Rossi."

"Agent Prentiss?" Hotch asked, surprised. Where was Emily, anyway? He tried to remember if he'd even seen her since they'd arrived at the Burn Unit.

"Yes, Agent Prentiss." Will said, almost struck dumb at the man's apparent cluelessness. "She's spent the last six hours taking care of almost every person in that waiting room. Can you say you honestly don't remember?"

"Has she?" Hotch murmured. He had to admit he'd not paid attention to much of anything to know what had been going on around him. They'd given him one hell of a shot of something when they'd fixed up his hands in the ER. He wasn't that clear on anything at the moment.

"Brought you coffee, juice. Brought blankets. Talked with Agent Rossi's brother. Checked on that detective, fed Dr. Reid." Will listed. "Talked to your ex-wife, even."

"Hayley? She called?"

"I guess. Agent Prentiss told her you were fine, that we were waiting on news about Agent Rossi. She promised to call her when any news came." Will told him, revising his earlier opinion of the team leader. Maybe he was just in shock and not a total cold fish. JJ had always talked warmly about the older man. But Will didn't really see it. "She also talked to your section chief and several others who'd called your phone."

"And you're telling me this because?" Hotch asked, softly.

"Because your Agent Prentiss is all alone in the chapel crying." Will said, bluntly. "She's spent all day taking care of everyone around her. When you all should have been helping her. She killed a man today—she has to be thinking about that. Over and over. Playing it again in her mind. Thinking there could have been something done differently. Don't you think that she deserves just a few minutes of your time?"

Hotch looked at him intensely for a moment, and Will braced himself for a harsh ripping. It never came.

Hotch looked away then before speaking. "Thank you for telling me, Detective La Montaigne."

"Anytime, Agent Hotchner."

ROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSIROSSI

Hotchner peered through the glass door leading into the chapel. Prentiss sat facing the front, her body limp and dejected. He opened the door soundlessly and approached her. He sank onto the small bench beside her without saying a word.

"Everyone was wondering where you'd gone." He told her. He shifted so his shoulder pressed against hers. She tensed.

"You're lying." She said softly. "But that's ok. That's the way we are. We close down. Shut the doors on all we can't deal with—so that we can deal with the horrors we see every day. How're your hands?"

"Hurting. The shot they gave me is wearing off." He said, equally as quiet. "I didn't want to forget to thank you for what you've done since we got here."

"It was nothing. I couldn't just sit, sir." She leaned back with a sigh. "I, uh, talked to your ex-wife. You'll need to call when we're given an update."

"Thank you for that. I don't even remember the phone ringing."

"It did, several times. I handle this kind of thing better when I have something to do, sir."

"Prentiss. I think you can stop sirring me all the time, don't you? Nobody else is that formal."

"Nobody else is always addressed by their last name, either, sir. Makes things clear."

"I wasn't even aware I did that. I didn't mean anything by it." He was being more open and frank with her than he ever had in their entire acquaintance.

"Why is that? That you did—do it?" Emily asked. She'd still not looked at him. Didn't want him to see the tears on her face. Not him.

"Just habit."

"Because you don't think I belonged on the team."

"If I didn't, would I have fought you on your resignation?" Hotch asked. He boldly wrapped the hand with the least amount of bandages around her much smaller one. Her hand was small, bony, and slightly cold. Fragile. Trembling. "Don't ever doubt for a moment how important you are to this team."

"Hmm."

"Look at what you did tonight. You took care of us all. Mothered Reid, took over for me when I couldn't function. Handled Rossi's family. Made sure JJ took care of herself. You're part of the heart of this team. You and Garcia. You know that, right?"

"For someone who hates politics, you've got a glib tongue." Her voice was flatter than he'd ever heard it, and he hated it. Emily was always the voice of reason, the eternal optimist. The one never defeated.

"I'm not sugar-coating, Emily. Just look at Reid." Hotch said, earnestly. "You two worried me for a bit, I'll admit it. I thought you'd never work out what it was between you. Until I realized you weren't letting him pull his bull with you. You called him on it, didn't you? Now, the first person he runs to when he needs something is you. It used to be Gideon. You're important to him. To all of us."

"You're all my family, sir."

"Aaron. My name is Aaron."

"I know. But I'm not comfortable calling you that." Emily said, being as brutally honest as she could. She just didn't have the strength or the will to sugar coat. Not after the day she'd had.

"I haven't exactly been the most welcoming, have I?" Aaron sighed, his fingers tightening around hers. "I do apologize for that. All I can say is the last year or so of my life has been one of the hardest I've ever faced. I think I let that leak a little in the office."

"Compartmentalizing isn't always easy, is it?" She asked. "Some people do it better than others."

"And I haven't been very good at it, this year. When Dave's back on his feet, when this case is over—will you let me make it up to you?"

"All I ask is you respect me on the job. And you do that." Emily told him, flatly. "I don't expect anything more than that."

"So we can't be friends, then?"

"I don't know." Emily said, puzzled at the whole conversation. "What would we even talk about?"

"I don't know." He echoed, laughing softly. "What do we really even know about each other?"

"I have a cat." Emily said. "I've named him Kurt."

Before Aaron could reply, Spencer came running in. "The doctor will be out in ten minutes to give us an update. I need to go to the restroom, and you need to get up there. But he's alive, and he'll be ok."

Spencer ran out before they could respond. Emily's breath shuddered out and she surprised them both by bursting into tears.

Aaron wrapped her tight in his arms and held her while she cried for her friend, and probably for the boy she'd killed—even though he'd been a terrorist—and for Detective Cooper, whom he'd known she'd liked a great deal.

He held her, hand wrapped in long dark hair that smelled of strawberries and Emily, while she cried.

"It'll be ok, Emily. I promise." He whispered reassurances over and over until she calmed. Kate Joyner and her resemblance to Hayley—and Hayley herself—never even entered his mind.

In that instant, in that now, as her head rested beneath his chin, he would have moved the world to keep that promise to her. To protect her from everything, forever.

COUNT ON ME

LATE MAY 2008

Hotch didn't even undress before crashing on the bed. All that mattered was that Dave was going to live. Thoughts of calling Hayley, Strauss, and the various other's who'd called his phone in the last nine hours never even entered his mind.

All he wanted to do was sleep and forget about what he'd seen. How Dave had looked at him when he'd ran up to his side. Saw his friend overcome by the heat and smoke before he could get the door opened.

Thank God the window had been blown out. Thank God Dave hadn't fastened his seatbelt. Thank God he'd been able to pull Dave out before the man had been more seriously injured. Dead.

As it was, the older man was facing weeks of painful healing and therapy. He'd never be physically the same again—but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

The burns on Hotch's hands were a small price for him to pay for his friend's life.

His head hit the utilitarian pillow that was characteristic of all generic hotel rooms, and he closed his eyes, praying he wouldn't see the flames again.

Instead, big, dark eyes popped into his mind. They were soft and vulnerable, tear-filled, and frightened.

He never wanted to see them like that again.

He'd held her tonight, felt her trembling as she cried.

Realized for the first time that Emily wasn't the consummate agent, perfectly composed at all times, able to handle all things that came her way, that he'd thought her to be.

Instead, she was just like him. She chose to find a quiet corner before she broke down. She felt she had to hide any weakness from the team—from him. Felt that she always had to be strong in order to belong to the team. Never show weakness, never need someone to lean on.

At least—never show it to him, not to him.

He remembered overhearing her and Dave talk on the plane about life once, about how it was a terrible thing to happen to a person. Heard her talking to Derek about thinking like monsters. Heard her talk to JJ about having children someday. Heard JJ tell her it would be a good idea. He'd heard her ask Spencer after the rocket trick if Hotch actually did have a sense of humor.

After that one case, her attempt to talk to him about taking that teenage girl home with her, she'd never tried to share anything personal with him. And it was his fault.

All of it.

In retrospect, his behavior was perfectly clear to him. His mistrust, his antagonism, his cold severity to her—all of it shouted how uncomfortable they'd made each other from the very beginning. Tonight had made that even more than perfectly clear. She'd crept away to the hospital chapel to sit and cry, alone, separate from the team.

Most likely away from him. He'd known, just seeing her all alone and vulnerable, that he was the one responsible for keeping them from knowing each other.

All Emily Prentiss wanted from him was respect on the job. Her words, calm, resigned, slightly defensive if you knew what to look for. She'd basically told him she didn't even know if she wanted to be his friend.

That had disconcerted him, at first. Then she'd cried, harder than he'd ever imagined she could. Clinging to him. Depending on him. Her body pressed so tightly against him. Again. The man she didn't even want as a friend.

All she'd been through that day flashed through his mind. She'd shot that kid, she'd been scared for Detective Cooper, she'd been worried and terrified for Dave—someone she'd apparently been growing pretty close to over the last few months—and how could he expect her to just be able to deal with all that with no help from anyone? Instead, she'd taken care of the rest of them.

Had he really cared that little about how she'd felt?

And her—did she really think that the only value she brought to the team besides her mind was the care she took of everyone else? Had he made her feel that way so much that it was now ingrained? When had anyone else ever realized that Emily needed someone to lean on once and a while, too?

Hotch couldn't remember ever seeing her vulnerable until today. Not even when she'd went over a Dakotan cliff, and had been clinging to the edge of it before Morgan pulled her up.

Even that bastard Joseph Smith hadn't gotten her down—she'd been injured, yes, but she'd done her job. And he'd admired that. Admired that she'd willingly walked into that house alone. Admired the fact that she'd stood her ground with all of Strauss's machinations, as well.

He'd seen her worried, too. Worried about Reid, Penelope, even worried about JJ. But she'd always done whatever she had to do help them. Just like tonight. He thought about how she'd cared for all of them in the waiting room. How Dave's brother would only speak to her, how she'd sat and held his hand after the doctors had told them Dave was going to be all right. How Penelope and JJ had both cried, clinging to Emily tightly.

He wondered if the team even realized how much they depended on Emily Prentiss?

He hadn't. And he called himself exactly what he was for that—a cold, ruthless bastard.

But who was there when Emily needed someone to lean on? Derek? Dave? Neither one of them was the kind of man a woman like Emily would ultimately need. Emily was too complex for them. Too used to hiding behind that ambassador's daughter mask.

Hotch made a vow, as his eyes drifted closed, that he'd be someone Emily could count on, if she'd let him. If she'd let him, he'd be so much more.

Now all he had to do was find a way to convince her to give him the chance.

***

INTERIM

LATE MAY 2008

Rossi's office was eerily dark—a grim reminder of the events of three days ago. He was currently resting in a drug induced haze after being transferred to the best burn hospital in DC.

Monday morning, Emily had already been to the hospital to see him. He hadn't been awake, but she'd sat beside him anyway. Just to remind herself that he'd be ok, that he'd get through this.

But still, it hurt to think of him lying there so vulnerable, instead of finding him crashed out in his office, like she had on so many mornings in the past four months.

She was always the first one in the office in the mornings—a habit she'd developed early on in her time at the BAU. She'd never wanted to give Hotchner a reason to ride her case. She knew she was just there on sufferance at first, and she'd do anything not to jeopardize that.

Now it was just a habit, and she'd been the first to realize David Rossi often didn't go home at night. At first, she'd said nothing, not wanting to invade the man's privacy. Until she realized, that like her arriving early, his sleeping in his office was becoming a habit. A lonely one.

So she'd brought him coffee. Then bagels. First, only occasionally, then on a more regular basis. They'd began to talk about inconsequential things, things not case related. He'd told her about his family, his brother and nieces and nephew. She'd told him about her mother, and some of the baggage that existed between the two of them. Eventually, they'd became friends as well as colleagues.

After Hotch had gotten his divorce papers, he'd began staying at the office late at night, too. But Emily didn't bring him coffee or bagels. Didn't acknowledge that she knew. Neither she nor Hotch would have considered it any of her business. But she continued to talk to Dave. Until she'd realized one morning, that Rossi was one of the few people in the world to truly get her. One of the few people who truly understood her.

And now this—he was so lucky Hotch had been there. When she thought what could have happened, her breath backed up in her throat and she had to fight the tears.

But at least the case was over. At least Dave was healing.

At least Hotch had told her she was a valued part of the team. Even if she wasn't sure she believed he meant it.

This morning would be the first she'd seen him since they'd wrapped the case up the day after Rossi'd been injured. Since the day after she'd cried so hard on his shoulder.

Why couldn't it have been Derek that found her in the chapel? He'd seen her cry before, and always gave her her space. Always made her smile when she was finished. Always made her feel better.

Hotch had just made her feel awkward. She'd not been able to look at him the remainder of the night in that waiting room, instead staying with Dave's brother until everyone had trickled away—to rest, to find the bastards who'd made the bomb. To escape each other and be alone with their fear, grief, and rage.

She'd cried in the arms of the one member of the team she wasn't sure she liked, knew she didn't understand, and didn't want to ever see her weak.

Dammit. How awkward was today going to be?

Hotch watched Emily as she settled in at her desk. His window blinds were closed, affording him the privacy he needed to compose himself for the difficult day ahead. Even with Rossi recuperating, the BAU had to go on. He stood by the door, looking around the edge of the blinds. Watching her, thinking.

People were depending on them. To catch monsters again.

Emily was at her desk, and he could almost feel the sigh she released as she looked up at Dave's office. He was aware that they often visited each other before the day began. That of all the team, Emily was probably the closest to Dave. Other than himself, that was.

It would naturally be hard on Emily to come in and see the office empty. She probably had come to depend on that early morning conversation.

He opened the door to his office, determined to make some changes in the way he did things—both personally and professionally, and headed down the stairs. "Good morning, Emily."

Emily looked up at hearing her name, surprise written on her face. He never spoke to her before the briefings. Never. "Good morning, sir."

"Rossi's down in Washington now." Hotch said, moving closer to her desk. "I talked to his brother yesterday."

"Steven called me yesterday morning, too. I was there when they brought Dave down." Emily admitted. "He thought it might be easier for Dave to have someone he felt comfortable with there, as well."

"Steven? Called you?" Hotch asked, surprised. She was on a first name basis with the man?

"Yes. He needed to know someone would be close by if Dave needed something, while Steven's home in Philadelphia." Plus, he'd wanted her number. She hadn't objected. The single father was a nice man, not as intense as those she worked with, but she thought she'd like that. "I volunteered. With his kids, he really can't be running back and forth between Washington and Philadelphia."

"That's right, he's recently divorced." Hotch recalled Rossi telling him a few months ago that his sister-in-law had just up and left her husband of ten years and their four kids. Hotch couldn't imagine it. Jack was hard enough to handle on the weekends by himself.

"Yes, he is." Emily said, confused by the whole conversation. "I went and sat with Dave this morning. They've got him drugged pretty heavily, so he wasn't aware I was there. But his color is looking much better."

"Good." Hotch said. "I planned to run over after work—if we don't get a case."

"Maybe he'll be awake then." She said, noncommittally as Derek strolled in, ready bag slung over his strong shoulder. Spencer was only a few steps behind him.

She'd never been more glad to see her friends. A casual Hotch was not something she was used to. Especially when it was just her and him.

"Maybe." Hotch said, smiling at her softly, before turning to greet Morgan.

Alternate universe, was all Emily could think of, as she sank into her chair and checked the pile of papers that had been delivered by the late night mail clerk. She'd woken up and found herself in an alternate universe.

She had to lay off reading science fiction before bed.

The day was relatively uneventful, with nothing more than a few consults and a lot of filing. It gave everyone a day to breathe after the events of the past week.

It gave Emily a chance to go to lunch with Steven Rossi. He'd called her, a few hours into her shift, to let her know that his brother was awake, and there were no signs of infection.

Dave was very lucky.

Then Steven had asked her if she'd like to go to lunch at the little café near the hospital—so he could thank her for her help over the weekend. His voice had hinted at something more, and she hadn't minded in the least.

So she'd said yes, and she'd enjoyed herself. Steven was a nice man, funny, as articulate as his brother, a literature professor with whom she'd had an interesting time talking. Who'd smiled and flirted with her and admitted he was nervous around a pretty girl. It was sweet.

What she didn't enjoy was Derek's annoying smirk when she returned from lunch five minutes late. To find her colleagues waiting around in the bullpen discussing the custodial interview that had cropped up while she was gone—and who was going to accompany Hotch.

Who was waiting at her desk. He looked at her intensely as she hurried in.

"Sorry, I'm late." Emily murmured, standing awkwardly next to JJ.

"We have an emergency custodial interview in Chicago. Spencer and Morgan both think they should get to go." Hotch said, severely, eying the two men. He couldn't blame them, things around the office were awkward, the darkness of Rossi's office shadowing every hour. Even a custodial offered a means of escape.

"I see, no taking turns, boys?" She smirked at Derek, hoping to divert Hotch's gaze. Why was he staring at her so intently? Did she still have a bit of salad in her teeth? Was he going to rip her over being a few minutes late—even though she'd never been late before?

"I think Emily should go." JJ said, suddenly. "Since Spence and Derek can't play nice."

"I've never done a custodial interview." Emily admitted. She didn't want to—but how could she tell Hotch that? Say, sorry, sir, but I don't want to go to Chicago alone with you? Morgan, Spencer, JJ—even Garcia, but not you! That would go over real well. It was bad enough taking a flight to Milwaukee with him months ago.

"It's settled then. Plane leaves at eight. I want everyone's paperwork on my desk by five." Hotch decided, just becoming aware that of the two dozen custodials the BAU had done in the past year or so—he'd never taken Emily. He'd never thought to. "JJ, make the hotel reservations for tonight. We'll do the interview tomorrow morning and be back tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir." The blonde said, smirking at Emily. She turned on the older woman. "So, a date with Rossi's little brother? How was it?"

"It was lunch, JJ. You know, soup and salads, a block from the hospital. It's not like the man knows anyone else around here." Emily said, as Hotch started to walk away. She suddenly smiled, laughed softly-sweetly. "I like him."

"Good." JJ said, giggling like a teenaged girl, as Spencer and Morgan returned to their desks to finish paperwork—the latter listening to the girls with half an ear. Only Morgan noticed Hotch pause by the foot of the stairs, shoulders stiff, as he looked back at the two women—listening to their conversation. "So what did you talk about?"

"Dave. Literature. He's a professor of Modern American Lit. And his kids, mostly."

"How many and how old?" JJ demanded.

"Four." Emily said. "Three girls and a boy. All under the age of nine, the youngest is about three, I think."

"Wow. Busy man." JJ said. "So…are you going to go out with him again?"

"I don't know. He's pretty busy with the kids. But he will be coming down at least on the weekends to check on Dave. I told him that we'd certainly keep checking on him during the week—when we don't have cases."

"Still…he'll be down on weekends?" JJ said. "That'll be nice. So if he asks, will you go back out with him?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Probably. Yes."

"Wow."

Morgan watched, surprised, as Hotch suddenly moved, stalking up the stairs, throwing an angry glance over his shoulder at the two women who stood still giggling over Emily's new friend.

What the hell was that all about?

It took all of Hotch's inner control not to slam his door. He was unreasonably angry, and it was all he could do not to turn to her and demand answers.

It took him a moment to realize that he was actually jealous. Jealous that she'd gone out with another man—even for something so trivial as lunch.

He had no claim on her, why shouldn't she be free to date whomever she wanted? And if she was attracted to a recently divorced, single father—who was he to get angry at her?

He was a recently divorced, single father. That thought made him pause. Consider. Think about it, think about her. Think about him. Steven Rossi was around Hotch's age, the same height, similar build. Similar coloring.

But Steven Rossi made Emily Prentiss smile sweetly, made her laugh like a girl, when she thought about a simple lunch date. Aaron Hotchner made her nervous, made her catch her breath, made her wary. Made her doubt herself.

Was it any wonder she wasn't sure if she wanted him as a friend? Why shouldn't she be excited about some literature professor?

He thought back to three nights ago. Thought back to how she'd fit against him as she cried. How he'd vowed then to actually get to know the woman in his arms. How he'd vowed to convince her to maybe take things a little further past friendship.

What he hadn't realized was that she might not be so keen on the idea. He'd have to think about that. First, though, he'd run over to the hospital and check on Rossi. Let him know he was only a call away if he needed anything. Let him know he was going to Chicago for a few days—he and Prentiss.

He remembered then what Rossi had told him only three nights ago. "If she'd look at me the way she looks at you, just once…I'd tell the bureau to screw it's fraternization rules and take her to Aruba."

It wasn't Aruba, and he didn't have the same purpose Dave had implied, but it was him she was traveling to Chicago with. Now he'd just have to see exactly how she looked at him. Him—and not Steven Rossi.

He'd have to use it to his advantage. Actually get to know whatever he could about her. Before deciding on his next step.

INTERIM TWO

It had never been just the two of them on the jet before. Thankfully, the flight to Chicago was relatively short. If it had been one of those ungodly long flights, she'd have gone crazy.

"I saw Dave. Spoke to him." Hotch told her, from his window seat. "He's awake and lucid. The doctor says he's looking good."

"Wonderful. I wanted to stop by, but I had to go home and take care of Kurt."

"Kurt?"

"The cat Morgan gave me. I usually have a neighbor check in on him, but she's on vacation in Europe this week." Emily said, inexplicably nervous.

"Dave's brother asked about you." Hotch said, watching her closely for a reaction.

But Emily had long ago learned not to show reactions, of any kind. Especially to this man. "Did he? I thought he was heading home this afternoon."

"Left about six, I think." Hotch said, he pulled something from his bag. "He wanted me to give you this."

Emily smiled, seeing the rare book she'd mentioned to Steven at lunch. Where had he found a copy so quickly? She accepted the book from Hotch and opened the cover, surprised when a note fell out and landed at her feet. "Oh."

Hotch bent down and retrieved it, wanting nothing more than to tear it into pieces. But he didn't, and his face showed no reaction whatsoever as he handed it to her. He opened the file he'd brought with him, but continued to watch her face over the top of it, as she read the other man's letter.

Emily smiled as she read the words Steven had penned. Emily, I was wandering around this afternoon, waiting for that brother of mine to awaken and I happened upon a little bookstore. Imagine my surprise when I found this—I thought you'd enjoy it, and if you'd like, maybe after you've re-read it—we could discuss it? I'm interested in a woman's perspective! I had a really good time today, and though I have to say the circumstances under which we met were horrible, I am glad we did. Take care until we meet again, Steven.

What a sweet man.

Hotch watched her stealthily, not missing the smile that touched her lips, or the blush that stained her cheeks. What had the damned professor written to get such a response from her?

Did just giving her a book elicit a softness in her that he wasn't used to seeing?

He watched as she idly flipped through the pages, listened as she laughed in surprised delight when a small flower, some sort of lily by the looks of it, fell from where it had been pressed between the pages. Saw her read the second letter, excitedly, smiling almost dreamily.

Now what had the guy written?

He couldn't recall ever feeling this way with Hayley. They'd met and it had been almost an instant attraction. He'd not even had to work that hard for her. Never had to worry about other men looking too hard. Hayley had been awkward, a little plain. Theirs had been a simple, sweet relationship that only the young can form.

He had a feeling Emily Prentiss was going to be a whole different ball game. It set him on edge, tightened his muscles…got him excited.

Aaron Hotchner had never had to go hunting before.

At least not for a woman.

And he was more than looking forward to it.

The lily thrilled Emily. She'd told him lilies were her favorite over lunch. And he'd found one. He'd remembered, and went to that much trouble—for her. His method of delivery was unique as well.

And for a man supposedly out of practice—Steven had guaranteed she'd think of him that night. Had any man ever done something so simple, or so sweet? For her—Miss self-sufficient, practical, organized, and nerdy Emily Prentiss?

She didn't think so.

She almost forgot Hotch was even on the plane with her, she got so caught up in the book. And the notes. She'd read them both several times. The second one burned into her memory. Emily, I couldn't resist giving a lovely lady her favorite flower. Think of me, Steven.

As JJ would say—wow. Another smile touched her lips as she rifled the pages one last time, as the plane began making its descent. Then she put it away in her bag, tucking it securely in the bottom. She'd replaced the lily exactly where she'd found it. She closed the zipper on the bag and sat back up.

It was time to be SSA Emily Prentiss again, not the Emily who loved lilies and old books.

JJ had booked them a suite. Hotch knew it was because of safety—and protocol. They couldn't share a room, but it was safer for both of them—especially Emily, if they were in a suite than regular, off the hall rooms.

It meant they'd be sharing a bathroom.

He offered to let her have the first turn, but she declined. Said she wanted to call JJ and let her know they'd arrived. When he came out to the suite's foyer, he heard her discussing that damned professor—again.

He was getting tired of Dr. Steven Rossi, professor of whatever.

The profiler in him knew exactly what his problem was—he wanted her attention on him.

She told JJ good night and severed the connection. She carried her ready bag past him and into her half of the suite. It wasn't a few moments but he heard the sound of the tub filling. And he realized why she'd wanted last go at the bathroom.

She was taking a bath instead of a shower. Filling that deep well up with warm water, probably using some of those bath bead things women liked. Was going to be in there soaking, naked and warm, twenty-five feet away from him. His body tightened reflexively.

Naked, and probably thinking of that damned professor. Dammit.

She'd barely even acknowledged him since they'd gotten on the plane. Hadn't really spoken except in a professional capacity. Shared nothing with him. Treated him with cool, aloof professionalism.

The same way he'd treated her since day one.

Dammit. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Hotch lay in his bed for several hours after he heard Emily drain the tub and leave the bathroom. Lay there thinking, wondering, scheming. And if he admitted it to himself—fantasizing.

It had been nearly ten months since he'd so much as looked at Hayley with sexual desire. Ten months since he'd even thought about sex with more than a passing urge.

Knowing Emily had been on just the other side of that wall, naked and wet, was killing him. Killing him long after she'd gone to bed.

He sighed, rolling off the regulation hotel mattress, making his way to the restroom. As soon as he opened the door he realized he should have just held it—if he wanted to get any sleep. The bathroom smelled like her. Warm vanilla, tart strawberries. Woman. Emily.

Dammit. He definitely wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon, now. He hurried up, got out of that bathroom as quickly as he could. His mind kept picturing just what she would have looked like, all that fragrant scented bath water lapping around her.

He knew she'd be fit, trim. Strong. He'd seen her in a red bikini, saw more of her than he'd ever imagined. Probably be soft as silk, smooth. Knew she curved in all the right places. Not angular like Hayley. Sitting in that tub, water all around her, she'd turn when he opened the door.

Smile at him the way she'd smiled over that damned lily. Say his name, laugh softly. Sweetly. Like she had today with JJ. As he handed her the flower that came with the room service tray.

He'd walk closer to the tub, sink down on the edge. Trail his fingers through the water, close to her chest. She'd have pinned up her dark curls, a few escaping to tease her neck, caress her shoulders, and he'd trickle some water over her exposed neck. She'd lean her head back, and he'd move around her, move behind her. Drop to his knees beside the tub. She'd look up at him, and he'd lean down, brush a kiss across those lips. Touch those shoulders, before moving lower. Beneath the water.

Before pulling her from that tub and carrying her in to his bed. Put her down in the very center of it. Wet, soft, hungry for him—she wouldn't object. Wouldn't object to anything he did to her. And he'd do it all to her.

He'd say to hell with the custodial interview, and he'd keep her in his bed the whole time. Until it was time to meet the jet to fly back to Washington.

They'd order strawberries for him, and chocolate for her. She loved chocolate, he'd heard her tell Reid. So he'd get her chocolate. And they'd stay right where they were.

Getting to know each other. In the most elemental of ways.

He sank down on his mattress, noting how cold and empty it seemed, knowing that he wouldn't be sleeping much at all this trip. Knowing that every time he closed his eyes, he'd see her smiling at him. Waiting for him. Wanting him.

And not that damned lily-giving professor brother of Dave's.

Emily was inexplicably nervous going into the penitentiary. It was more than the fact that this was her first custodial—with or without Hotch—it was in the way he'd been looking at her all morning.

At breakfast, neither had spoken much. She'd eaten her blueberry bagel, while he'd had steak and eggs. What they did discuss revolved entirely around Adam Preatt, the murderer of eighteen women.

The car ride from the hotel hadn't been any better. They'd discussed the case, him getting her more familiar with the man they'd be seeing, for the entire drive.

Emily had interviewed killers before, so she wasn't too worried about that. But something was up with Hotch, and as a profiler, it freaked her to her toes that she couldn't lay her finger on exactly what it was. She'd never understood the man beside her, and she was beginning to doubt she ever would.

The warden of the prison was a little nonplussed to see Emily. And he was frank about saying so. "We've an open floor plan here. She'll be seen by almost every inmate."

"It's not my first time in a prison." She told him, hand resting on her badge, to remind him that she was a federal agent.

"You'll definitely cause a disturbance. A big one." He turned to Hotch, frowning. "Are you sure she should be in there, with him?''

"SSA Prentiss is an accomplished interrogator, Warden. The interrogation room is secure, correct?" Hotch asked, as the incident with Chester Hardwick flashed through his mind. "I want someone on the other side of the glass at all times. Just as a precaution."

"I'll be there, myself." The warden reassured him. "And someone will be directly outside the room, as well."

"Then everything should be fine. It's nine-forty now, can you give SSA Prentiss and I twenty minutes then lead Preatt in?" Hotch subtly ordered.

"Yes, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the interrogation room right now." The warden wasn't sure he wanted to be doing this. It was one thing for female attorneys to come to the prison—most of the ones he'd seen were old and haggard, or female jail officers in their bulky, unattractive uniforms. It was quite another for a woman like this to walk down the middle of his jail. This block held four hundred eighty-six animals, most mid to maximum security—and each and every one would be staring at this pretty dark-eyed woman.

He'd seen riots break out over far less provocation.

Hotch and the warden walked on either side of Emily, two other guards accompanying them. She was partially blocked from sight, but it didn't matter. No one had expected it to.

Woof whistles, catcalls. Worse. All of it filled the air, as they passed ever so briefly on the block floor, headed toward the bank of rooms to the far right. In Hotch's opinion, Emily handled it just right. She neither acknowledged the calls, nor cringed. Just walked with a purpose that he had to admire. Anyone looking at her would never guess that she even knew she was currently fueling the fantasies of well over four hundred incarcerated men.

And one supervisory special agent. He'd been remembering his dreams about her all morning.

Hotch had to admire the way she could handle just about anything that came her way. He'd never have to shield her from the bad things, like terrorists attacking malls, the way he had Hayley. Emily was a strong woman who did her part to protect the more vulnerable. All without showing any vulnerability of her own.

But Hotch knew better—he'd seen that vulnerability. Had held her while she'd wept. While she'd been dependent on him for just that little while. For a little while, he had been the center of her world.

He wanted to be there again. Wanted to feel her pressed against him, leaning into him, relying on him.

Then he wanted her beneath him, taking him. Trusting him. Vulnerable to him. Vulnerable enough that he could just take and take and take. Then do it again.

***

The next part of The Lion and The Antelope.

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