Written by Sienna27.
Its a chapter,from "Falling in Love with a Girl".
I love this (long)chapter, its so funny,so I wanted to share it with you.
NOTE: Hotch and Emily are good friends, but they cuddle and kiss, but only like "friends".;)
The Story takes place after The Instincts/Memoriam 4x06/4x07, in Las Vegas.
Under the Influence
“Ready?”
Hotch’s words were slightly slurred as he looked over at Emily. She nodded back firmly, “ready,” and they both pounded back their shots. A second later their glasses slammed down on the bar in synchronicity and Emily grinned at him as she wiped her thumb along the corner of her lip.
“I’m winning!”
It took considerable effort for Hotch to not roll his eyes at that pronouncement. Instead he just pulled her to his chest and looked down, shaking his head sadly, “sorry sweetheart, but you’re down three beers and two shots.”
Again he noticed a slight drag to his words. That meant it was probably time to start thinking about shutting this night down. By his count . . . and he was indeed counting . . . he’d had six shots of tequila. Plus . . . he squinted as he counted back . . . seven beers.
After they had dinner out with the team . . . a dinner that had included two beers and a two glasses of wine respectively . . . Emily had challenged him to a drinking contest. She said it was Vegas and because neither of them gambled, they should do something they wouldn’t normally do. He’d of course said no. He’d said no quite emphatically.
But then she’d broken out that damn pout.
So now here they were, five hours later in the hotel/casino bar, downing shots. They’d started their contest with a trip through the beers of Oktoberfest and now they’d moved onto tequila. Thank God they’d had dinner! But even with the food soaking up the alcohol he knew that they were both still headed for some epic headaches in the morning.
That wasn’t a concern of his at the moment though. Because at the moment . . . he felt Emily’s breath against his throat . . . he was having a really good time.
Not to mention . . . he was totally kicking her ass!
It was barely even a contest.
Not that he should really rank this evening’s outing high on his list of life’s accomplishments. He did outweigh her by fifty pounds. The only real embarrassment here would have been if she’d kicked his ass.
He didn’t consider himself to be a chava . . . chava . . . chava . . . shit! He scowled for a second . . . what was that word?
And then it came to him . . . chauvinist!
No, he certainly didn’t consider himself to be one of those. Definitely not . . . he smacked Emily on the ass . . . this woman right here . . . she was his girl and he had nothing but respect for her.
But still . . . he was a man. And he had his pride. There was NO way he was letting her drink him under the table. Not that they were at a table. They were at the bar.
His brow wrinkled as he suddenly noticed Emily staring at him.
‘Why is she giving me that look?’
Emily looked up at Hotch in astonishment before she started to giggle, “you just slapped my ass!”
He wasn’t quite as drunk as he was the night they went to Smokey’s, but he was still a few steps beyond simply buzzed. She knew that she was drunk too. But it was a silly drunk, not the falling down kind.
Basically she was just enjoying herself immensely.
This contest had started out as just a fun way to kill the night after the rest of the team went off on their merry little ways. But now she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t gotten him to do it before! The divorce outing didn’t count because he was all depressed and his life was falling apart.
He wasn’t exactly a barrel o’laughing monkeys that night.
But they’d had a good day today. They’d gotten that little boy back in his own bed tonight. The UNSUB was off the streets, and with her mental history there was little chance of her getting out again.
It was a win all around. And that was a rarity for them.
So tonight, for a surprising change after a missing child case, Hotch was actually in a good mood. And good mood Hotch with alcohol in his system was hilarious because he had no filter at all.
Random utterances:
. . . He’d had once had a dream that Garcia’s troll doll collection tried to kill him. The next day he banned them from the conference room under the pretext that they were unprofessional. In reality they just scared the shit out of him.
. . . Strauss action figures should come with a broom and a caldron
. . . Dave, with a mullet, got more ass in the eighties than Derek has his entire adult life
. . . Two weeks ago Hotch had gotten a complaint that one of his female agents was using the men’s room. Turned out the ‘female agent’ was Reid. The next day Hotch had to have an awkward conversation with Spencer about considering a haircut that wasn’t quite so androgynous.
Emily laughed so hard at that last one she had to run to the bathroom before she wet her pants.
This was one of the best nights they’d ever had. And she could tell from the indignant scowl on his face that she was about to have even more fun with him.
“I didn’t slap your ass,” Hotch scoffed dismissively as he turned to wave the bartender over again.
Like he would ever do something like that. He’d never slapped a woman’s ass in his life. That’s something Dave would do.
Emily snorted as she started to undo her belt buckle, “you want to see the handprint?”
Not that she was really going to drop trou in the casino bar. But the threat would definitely scare the shit out of him!
“NO!” Hotch grabbed her hand, “Jesus Christ Emily keep your pants on!”
For Christ’s sake they were in the middle of the Bellagio!
It took her only a second to start giggling again as she leaned against him, “you know that’s usually just something people say. I don’t think anyone’s ever told me to keep my pants on and meant it literally.”
And that’s why she threatened to take them off. Just to get a rise out of him.
As her body pressed against his, Hotch wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her up. And then his mouth started to quiver listening to her giggle fit.
She was so cute.
But . . . she bounced her head off of his chest . . . she had just tried to take her pants off in public. And she was now bouncing her head against his chest like she needed a helmet.
It was probably time to call it a night.
So he tipped his head down and whispered, “I think we’ve had enough to drink sweetheart. We should probably get to bed.”
It had to be after one.
Emily’s head whipped up in horror, “WHAT?! No!” she pouted, “Aaron please can we stay out a little longer? We never do anything like this at home.”
Seeing his eyes squinting at her she knew that he was trying to decide what to do. So she decided to take advantage of their inebriated state to get away with something that she couldn’t do sober.
She leaned up and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, running her tongue along the shell of his ear before she whispered to him again, “please?”
Trying very hard to keep his breathing under control . . . that woman could push buttons he didn’t know he had . . . Hotch looked down at Emily again, “fine.” Then his eyebrow rose in amusement, “but I probably would have agreed even if you hadn’t tongued my ear.”
With a grin she wrapped her arms around his neck, “yeah, but I couldn’t risk it.”
As his mouth twitched and his arms came around her body again, locking at her lower back, he realized that they were getting entirely too familiar with one another in public. He wasn’t concerned about their behavior in principle . . . their displays of affection for one another were never a concern with him. Emily sticking her tongue in his ear was just Emily having fun.
And hell, that was fun for everyone!
But he just didn’t want anyone on the team coming along and seeing them like this. It wouldn’t look good.
Actually . . . he felt her sliding her hands under his jacket . . . it would look really bad.
Yeah . . . he took one hand off of her ass to wave down the bartender . . . they needed to get out of here.
The woman came over and smiled at him, “another round?”
With a shake of his head, Hotch started pulling money out of his wallet, “no actually, we’re going to cash out,” as he heard Emily start to whine, “but Aaaaron you said . . .” against his chest he quickly added, “though if you could give me a bottle of Patron to take to our room, thanks.”
The bartender looked askance at him for a moment so he dug out another hundred and dropped that on top of the money for the bill and the bottle of liquor. Then he flashed her both of his dimples, “I know it’s against policy but we’d really appreciate it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if the dimples would work when he had another woman wrapped around him. But to his amazement . . . they did.
As most women did when he flashed the full wattage of his smile, the bartender immediately grinned back.
“Well, I suppose it’s okay as long as you’re not leaving the hotel.”
She reached under the bar and pulled out a full silver bottle. And moments like this made him wonder why he didn’t just pull out the dimples more often. He’d probably make a lot faster progress in his interviews if he did.
Well . . . he watched the bartender stuff the hundred down her shirt . . . with the women anyway.
Realizing he was now staring at the woman’s breasts he quickly looked away. If Emily saw him do that he was dead. He snuck another peek . . . but God she had nice tits!
Emily rolled her head so that she could see the other woman clearly, “nope, we’re most definitely not leaving the hotel,” she nuzzled Hotch’s neck before she purred, “we’re going to my room right honey?”
Not that Emily planned on seducing Hotch this evening.
Definitely NO.
She wasn’t about to let a meaningless Vegas roll in the hay get in the way of her happily ever after plans. And even though she’d actually been joking with this bartender earlier, Emily didn’t much care for the googely eyes that she was flashing at the future father of her children now.
Not that she was going to be a bitch about it, the girl was funny and she seemed nice, Emily was just staking prior claim. She knew Hotch had to flirt to get the bottle, but she wasn’t tolerating any flirting back.
Not when he’d been drinking this much.
Earlier a horrible thought had come to her . . . what if he decided he wanted to get laid! She knew that he . . . like she . . . hadn’t had sex in a LONG time. And this was Vegas after all. That’s what men did here. They came and had meaningless sex with strange women because they were sure they were never going to see them again.
Hell, that’s what Dave and Morgan were out doing right now!
So even if her father might have assured her that Aaron Francis Hotchner was in love with her, she couldn’t risk him getting drunk and doing something stupid. Doing something stupid that she’d have to kill him for later even though she technically held no claim to him.
Basically she was making damn sure that drunk Hotch didn’t get any on her watch.
Always enjoying the privilege of watching Jealous Emily make one of her rare appearances, Hotch smirked as his hand slid around to her hip, “yes sweetheart,” he kissed her temple, “we’re going to your room.”
He knew better than to mess with Jealous Emily. If she was making a point for their comely bartender he had no intention of contradicting the impression she was making. And as far as hellish assignments went, having a beautiful woman that he was in love with plaster herself to his body, well . . . he felt her slide her hand along his belt buckle . . . he’d be willing to suffer through the indignity.
The bartender leaned over the bar top and lowered her voice, “hey, I get off at two. You guys looking for some company?”
These two were the best looking couple she’d seen in awhile.
Hotch’s eyes popped out . . . holy shit! That backfired!
And the last time he was propositioned for a threesome he was in college. God knows he’d never had any interest in participating, but he just couldn’t for the life of him remember how to politely decline. But fortunately Emily stepped up as she leaned towards the bartender with a grin, “maybe next time hon,” she rubbed Hotch’s stomach, “he’s a little tired,” she winked at the other woman, “we might break him.”
She only had to be mean to the woman if she was flirting with just Hotch. But if she wanted to have sex with both of them . . . well, Emily had to be polite. After all, even if Hotch did get drunk and do something stupid she knew that there was no way in hell anyone as straight laced as him would ever entertain the idea of a threesome. Not that Emily would either.
But now with her offer . . . the hot bartender with the perky breasts Hotch was just staring at . . . had nullified herself as competition.
At the woman’s responding laughter . . . a deep and throaty sound . . . Hotch’s ears perked up.
Huh . . . with an appraising eye he looked down at Emily and then over to the shapely breasts being shoved in his face. Well maybe if . . . and then his senses came roaring back and kicked the tiny little Dave part of his brain out of the driver’s seat.
Idiot.
‘First of all you’re not actually sleeping with Emily! Not yet anyway. And you’re sure as hell not going to start that aspect of your relationship as a drunken threesome with your hot bartender!’
He eyed the blonde’s cleavage longingly one more time . . . no matter how nice her breasts.
With a chuckle the woman slid the bottle of alcohol across to Emily, and then she scribbled down her phone number on a cocktail napkin.
“Well, if you two change your mind, or,” she smirked at Emily, “you break him and you’re looking for someone else to play with, just give me a ring.”
Emily looked down at the napkin with a little smile . . . Missy . . . this was too funny. She looked back up with a saucy grin, “Missy, I promise if I do break him tonight you will be the first one I call,” she picked up the bottle, passing it to Hotch as she waved at the woman, “now you have a good night.”
And with that pronouncement Emily looked up at Hotch, “come on hon,” she winked, “I’m starting to sober up.”
He smirked, “well, can’t have that,” he shot a dimple at Missy as they walked away, “maybe we’ll see you later.”
She yelled back, “I hope so!” and almost instantaneously Hotch felt Emily’s nails dig into his stomach. Fortunately he had years of self discipline to call on to keep from reacting, but as soon as they were clear from the bartender he looked down at her.
“What? You’re the one who was flirting with her,” he added drily, “I was just being polite.”
Emily rolled her eyes, “polite my ass, you were checking out her tits.”
Like he didn’t know his little comment was going to get him in trouble.
His eyes widened in indignation, “she was shoving them in my face! What else was I supposed to look at?”
For Christ’s sake it was like a solar eclipse. He knew Emily was going to kill him for it . . . yet . . . he couldn’t look away.
“And besides,” he added with a scoff, “you were the one she really wanted, not me.”
At the slight scowl on his face Emily’s irritation with him faded and she started to giggle again, “um, are you jealous or offended?”
His brow wrinkled and then he shook his head as he looked down at her, “you know, I’m not quite sure.”
Emily chuckled as she wrapped her arm around his waist, “you know she really wasn’t my type. You know what with not having a penis or anything.”
He snorted and pulled her closer to his side.
‘Yeah, he was pretty far gone if he was jealous of other WOMEN now!’
As they continued along towards the elevators Emily became less cooperative on the forward momentum front. She kept stopping to look and point at people.
Hotch sighed . . . apparently anything shiny was going to keep catching her eye. And as he looked wearily ahead, he knew that the elevator banks were still a bit of a hike.
This was Vegas after all and their hotel was enormous.
He grunted as she tugged on his arm again . . . at this rate they’d be getting to the elevators about in time to catch the jet home.
So he did what he had a vague memory of doing once before . . . he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
Again, it was Vegas so nobody paid them any attention. And it was a straight shot to the elevator from their position now. And though her continuous giggling . . . and the six shots of tequila he’d downed were a slight distraction to him . . . he was doing pretty well making progress across the ground floor.
That was until two burly officers from hotel security stepped out in front of him.
The bigger of the two Conans gestured to Emily’s hip, “ma’am, do you have a permit for that?”
That’s when Hotch noticed that her weapon was now exposed because she was half over his shoulder.
Before she could respond Hotch answered for her, “she does and she has a badge too. If I may . . .” he gave them an expectant look and they nodded so he slipped two fingers inside his front jacket pocket and pulled out his shield.
While the guard was looking at his badge, Hotch lowered Emily to the ground, tugging her in front of him as he slipped one hand around her waist and the other into her pocket. He knew that she was more than capable of digging out her own credentials, but for some reason he was feeling very possessive and well . . . alpha, at the moment.
Maybe it was the tequila. Hard alcohol did weird things to his brain.
He pulled out her badge and handed that one to the other guard.
Emily very helpfully wrapped her arm around Hotch’s neck as she waved with her other hand, “hi, I’m me!”
Feeling his lips begin to twitch, Hotch tightened his hold on her waist, “Agent Prentiss. Her name is Agent Prentiss. And I’m Agent Hotchner and we’re just on our way upstairs.”
The guard chuckled as he handed Hotch back both sets of credentials, “you two have a good night.”
Hotch nodded his thanks as he gave her back her badge, shoving his own into his pocket as they started to walk away. That’s when Emily leaned around and called over his shoulder back to the guard, “oh we will have a good night. We might have a threesome later with Missy the hot bartender!”
Not that they really were but the whole idea of it seriously cracked her up.
As Hotch started to chuckle, one of the guards hurried up beside them, “I know Missy. And if you’re looking for one more,” he gave Hotch a look, “I get off in ten minutes.”
Ignoring the snickering woman at his side, Hotch called upon all of his considerable self control as he tipped his head over to Emily and said seriously, “sorry, but she gets jealous.”
Emily piped up from under his arm, “I do,” and then she took note of the features of the man propositioning them and she grinned, “though you are pretty cute,” she reached out and touched his face, “love those dimples.”
Of course they weren’t as good as Hotch’s but . . . whose were?
Hotch’s brow darkened as he tugged her back, then he gave the kid a hard look, “sorry, our dance card’s full,” and with that he took Emily’s hand and continued on through the lobby.
Fortunately the elevator banks were just around the corner because he wasn’t in the mood to put up with any more . . . distractions, on their way upstairs.
As they stood there waiting in silence for the elevator to arrive Hotch’s jaw began to twitch.
Dimples.
The kid HAD to have dimples!
He shot a look down to Emily at his side, but she seemed to be oblivious to his annoyance. And her complete obliviousness about how upset he was irritated him even more.
But his anger was really more at himself than at her. It was his own stupid fault for not making his feelings clear. What the hell did he expect? As far as she knew they were just friends.
Okay, maybe they weren’t JUST friends, but they were certainly platonic. So if she wanted to admire some other guy’s dimples then how the hell was she supposed to know how pissed off that was going to make him.
Then his anger circled back around . . . but wait though, that was THEIR thing! Her obsession with HIS dimples was their thing! How could she just go touching some other guy’s face like that?!
THAT was NOT okay!
Emily tipped her head over to Hotch’s shoulder, trying to decide if she should be drinking more tequila or downing a gallon of water. She decided to go with tequila. She was never going to get Hotch this loose again, might as well continue to take advantage. Though . . . she lifted her head up to look at his profile . . . he seemed a little tense.
What’s up with him?
As the elevator dinged it’s arrival another couple walked up to the doors. They were just about to step on when Hotch shot them a look and they murmured that they’d get the next one.
After the doors shut, Emily finally took note of the tension radiating from Hotch’s body and she frowned at him, “are you mad at me?”
Why he’d be mad she didn’t know, but he certainly seemed to be.
Hotch’s jaw twitched as he jerked his head to the side. Then he swallowed before biting out a clipped, “no.”
YES!!!!!!
Her brow furrowed in concern . . . well, that didn’t sound sincere.
Emily stared at him, trying to dig past the slight marination of her brain to read him like she usually would. Now why would he be angry with her? Why would he suddenly be . . . and then she had it.
Jealous.
He was jealous because of what she’d said to that kid. That’s why he was doing a fairly good impression of a stone tablet right now.
Well . . . she pouted at him . . . that was just ridiculous, like she really wanted anyone else. She’d just been distracted by the kid’s dimples. She was always distracted by dimples now.
They reminded her of Hotch.
But . . . she sighed . . . Hotch didn’t know that. He thought she was flirting right in front of him. And after what her dad had just confirmed for her yesterday, she could see how very uncool that would be. After all, if he’d been feeling up another woman’s face in front of her she’d be giving him an extremely cold shoulder right now too.
Amends needed to be made.
So she moved over and wrapped her arms around his waist as she said conversationally, “you know that kid really wasn’t that good looking.”
Making sure to keep his hands at his side, Hotch glanced down at her dismissively, “really? Because you seemed to think he was pretty cute a few minutes ago.”
She rubbed her cheek on his jacket, “yeah, but now I’ve thought about it. His ears stuck out and he kind of had buck teeth.”
Seeing that she was trying to make amends, Hotch felt some of the tension leave his body.
He didn’t want to be angry at her.
Why would he want to be angry at her when they were having such a good night? That was stupid.
And a waste of a good time.
His arms slid around her waist and he raised his eyebrow as he asked suspiciously, “and what about the dimples?”
Just because he’d decided he didn’t want to be angry didn’t mean he was completely okay with what had happened. She’d still hurt his feelings.
But of course Emily’s response made it impossible to stay mad at her. She pashaw’ed and rolled her eyes.
“PLEASE! Those are just craters in his face!”
His mouth started to quiver as she leaned back, reaching up to run her hands around his mouth, “now your dimples,” she nodded seriously, “THESE babies are dimples. Which is why I always compare all other . . . dimples, to your dimples,” and then she gave him a shy smile, “and all of the other dimples always come up lacking.”
There . . . even with the alcohol in his system that should be clear to him.
Despite his best efforts, Hotch couldn’t stop the superior dimples in question from making an appearance as he grinned like an idiot, “really?”
Every man she meets she compares to him. And they all come up short . . . wow! That was way more than he was expecting. He was just thinking he’d get a sorry for flirting.
She pulled him down, pressing a kiss on his lips before she nodded again seriously, “really, really.”
With all the alcohol they’d ingested she couldn’t keep her lips off of him tonight. That’s okay though, it was Vegas and they’d been drinking. Provided they didn’t do anything stupid . . . like totally start making out . . . then all the regular kissing was fine.
Everything would go back to normal when they got home.
Her earlier flirting not only forgiven, but now completely forgotten, Hotch pulled Emily to his chest and dipped his head down next to hers. He placed a kiss on her temple before he whispered, “you have way better breasts than Missy.”
Emily snorted and burst out laughing as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, “thank you,” then she tipped her head back slightly to give him a happy nod, “and I think now we’re even!”
Hotch grinned back at her . . . how could he have gotten pissed off at her about something so stupid. He started to lean in to see if he could get away with stealing one more quick kiss when . . . to his chagrin . . . the elevator doors opened.
And who was standing there?
Dave.
He rolled his eyes . . . great. This was definitely a moment in time that was going to get tossed back in his face.
Ross smirked at the display in front of him. Boy Hotch looked pissed! But he wasn’t sure if it was pissed because he’d caught them doing something, or interrupted them before they did something.
Either way he decided to throw some fuel on the fire as he smirked, “get a room.”
Hotch rolled his eyes but Emily turned her head to him with a grin, “DAVE!” she leaned back against Hotch’s chest, “you’ll enjoy this, we just turned down TWO offers for a threesome!”
As he saw Hotch standing behind her turning beet red, Rossi started to crack up, “good call turning those down honey! They’re never as much fun as they sound,” he winked at her, “too much work.”
As she started laughing the door banged against Dave’s hand, and he tipped his head towards the empty corridor, “you guys getting off or what?”
She grinned and tugged on Hotch’s hand, “we are, we’re in the middle of a contest and I’m winning.”
Hotch rolled his eyes at Dave as he passed him in the open elevator doorway, “she’s not winning. She just thinks she’s winning.”
Rossi blinked at the smell coming off of both of them as they walked passed.
‘Christ, they’d been drinking! That was a first. But certainly not a moment that could go with comment.’
So he poked his head around the corner, calling after them, “you kids don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Then he cracked up as he saw Hotch flip him off behind his back.
With a grin, Rossi nodded to himself as he pulled his head in and the elevator doors shut.
‘Good, maybe Hotch will finally get laid.’
//////////
After they walked into her room Emily insisted on finishing their drinking game. Hotch obliged her because that’s what he always did now.
An hour later the small bottle was half empty and Emily starting dropping her clothes on the floor. As much as he was enjoying the show, Hotch stopped her before she pulled her shirt over her head. On slightly unsteady feet he went over and dug her pajamas out of her bag before giving her a little push towards the bathroom.
When Emily came back out a few minutes later she saw that Hotch was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling.
As she realized how bleary he was in her vision, she knew that they’d definitely had more than enough to drink. Basically it was all starting to catch up with them now.
She went over and straddled his waist, dropping down on his stomach.
At his, “oomph,” she realized that she might have dropped down a little too hard. She grinned at him as she leaned forward and brushed her fingers through his hair, “sorry honey.”
His eyes crinkled as his hands came up to slide along her hips, “s’okay. You can drop on me anytime you want.”
And preferably in a few months she’d have a lot less clothes on when she did it.
Yep . . . his fingers slid under the edges of her shirt . . . naked Emily dropping was definitely something to look forward to.
Leaning forward a bit more she placed one hand on either side of his head as she whispered back with a smile, “I’ll remember that.”
They stared at each other for a second and then he broke the moment by waggling his eyebrows at her.
Emily burst out laughing, “God, you’re so adorable,” she pressed her lips to his . . . and pulled back to see his raised eyebrow.
“That’s all I get for being adorable? A quick peck on the lips? I bet Missy would have at least gone to five Mississippis there.”
Ordinarily he wouldn’t be taunting her into a make out, but they were now nicely wasted. And they were in Vegas. If he couldn’t get a decent kiss from her after they polished off half a bottle of tequila then he was getting a refund on the Patron.
Emily giggled at his Missy comment and then licked her lips as she stared down at him. He was right though. If the kiss was reward for his relative adorability, hell, he should have gotten some tongue for the dimples alone!
And they were both pretty drunk right now so she figured as far as kissing went . . . it was anything goes.
So she was most definitely going to take advantage.
She lowered herself on top of him, her lips coming down to meet his. Then his mouth opened and her tongue slipped inside, running along, tasting the tequila on him just as she knew that he could taste it on her.
This is what Vegas was for . . . she sucked on his tongue . . . getting to do stuff that you couldn’t usually do.
And if they had to drink a bottle of tequila to get in a solid kiss to tide her over until things moved to the next step . . . well, that was just fine with her. Things would still be normal between them when they go home.
After all . . . what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.
As Emily started to pull away Hotch rolled her beneath him, returning the favor as he plundered the depths of her mouth. He wasn’t stopping until he had at least one moan, and once he heard it, he pulled back and winked at her, “you’re pretty adorable yourself.”
Though she was still trying to catch her breath, Emily flashed him a brilliant grin, “thanks.”
Hotch stared at her . . . God he wanted to kiss her again. But more kissing would be bad. Anymore kissing would lead to full on making out.
Though, now that a little bit of his brain was trying to be responsible, he realized that continuing to lie on top of her would lead to stuff too.
So he rolled onto his back again.
He lay there for a moment, catching his breath before suddenly realizing that he no longer had a warm body on top of him.
His brow furrowed in confusion . . . where was Emily? With a slight turn of his head he saw that she was a few feet away, lying on the floor looking over at him incredulously, “you dumped me!”
His eyes widened, “oops,” he reached for her, “sorry sweetheart,” he held out his hand, wiggling his fingers, “come back, I promise I won’t do it again.”
Christ he was drunk if he was losing her in a simple roll over!
With a pout Emily crawled over and climbed on top of him again. Then she lay her head down on his chest grumbling, “I bet Missy wouldn’t have dropped me on the floor.”
He started to chuckle as he kissed her head, “I’m sorry sweetheart. In case you haven’t noticed, I have been drinking,” he huffed, “just be glad I wasn’t carrying you. And as to Missy, that might be true, but with those fake boobs of hers I’m pretty sure you’d have a crick in your neck trying to lie on top of her like this.”
Emily burst out laughing, “that’s true!” she rubbed her hands along his chest, “you see, that’s why I keep you around. You’re a good pillow.”
And to prove her point she cuddled in closer, sighing as his arms wrapped around her. For once she wasn’t even cold.
Probably because of all the alcohol.
As Emily’s breath began to even out, Hotch rubbed her back, “sweetheart, we can’t fall asleep here.”
They were going to be a mess in the morning anyway, but bad backs and stiff necks didn’t need to be added into the mix. It wasn’t like when they deliberately slept on the floor because JJ was over, he didn’t even have a frigging pillow!
But as he ran his fingers up and down Emily’s back murmuring to her with no response, he realized that she’d already passed out.
He blew out a puff of air . . . great.
As appealing as it would be to simply close his eyes too, he knew that really wasn’t an option. And if he didn’t move now then the option portion of the evening would be over.
Because he was definitely going to be passing out shortly as well.
So he took a breath . . . made sure to hold Emily tightly to his chest . . . and rolled to the side.
Sober picking her up was a fluid motion. Drunk, well, he wasn’t so sure how that was going to go. Therefore he gently placed her on the carpet so he could stand up on his own first.
‘A bit steady, but not tilting at windmills.’
Okay . . . he psyched himself up . . . you can do this.
He stooped down, catching himself before he toppled over completely, and slipped his arms underneath her body. Once he was sure that not only did he have a good grip . . . but that he was also properly balanced . . . he pulled her to his chest and slowly stood up.
When he found himself completely vertical with her still clutched to his body, he felt a ridiculous surge of pride.
He huffed to himself . . . yeah Aaron . . . maybe they’ll make drunk girl lifting an Olympic sport.
Chuckling at his own stupid joke . . . yeah he’d had way too much to drink . . . Hotch went over and placed Emily on the bed. He turned to fix the covers and then moved her over.
After he had her settled, he put his hand on the mattress to steady himself as he kicked off his shoes. And then . . . out of habit . . . he climbed over her and got under the covers.
Per usual he pulled her to his body and wrapped his arms around her waist. And then he pushed her hair back so he could kiss her neck.
No problems there.
It wasn’t until he realized that his fingers were tracing circles on her bare skin that he realized he was in trouble. Somehow . . . he wasn’t quite sure how . . . his hand had slipped under her t shirt and was sliding along her stomach.
He yanked it back like it was scalded.
SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING?!
Not that he’d touched her anywhere inappropriately, but still, the point was that he was doing it without thinking.
He did NOT make a habit of putting his hands under Emily’s shirt. She might do it to him under the pretext of keeping her hands warm, but it’s not like they were working the same equipment under there.
That was a hands off area for him.
So what was he . . . and that’s when he felt the twitch and realized that he really wanted to have sex.
Really, REALLY wanted to have sex.
SHIT!
With a groan he rolled onto his back.
It was the God damn tequila!
Hard alcohol and a beautiful woman were a very dangerous combination when you hadn’t had sex in over a year.
Christ . . . he rolled his eyes . . . for as well as his libido was running at the moment he might as well take some frigging Viagra while he was at it. Not only did he and Emily not have that kind relationship . . . ‘right now’ his brain automatically added . . . she was SLEEPING!
Even if sex had been in the cards tonight, it sure as hell wasn’t in the cards with her passed out.
He sighed as he shifted more towards the nightstand. Maybe he could just stay on his own side of the bed and things would settle down on their own.
Of course at that moment Emily rolled over and snuggled into his side.
As he felt another inconvenient twitch he realized that he definitely needed to get up before a cold shower was needed.
Okay, this has been fun . . . he scrubbed his hands down his face . . . but it’s time to go back to your own room now Aaron.
With a weary sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled across the room to grab his gun and holster off the small table.
But once he reached the corner of the room . . . he put his hand out to steady himself on the arm chair . . . he started feeling a bit queasy.
Probably shouldn’t have gotten up so quickly. Or more likely probably shouldn’t have been drinking for five hours straight.
Well, whatever it was, he decided that it was best that he sit down for a second until the room stopped spinning.
Less chance that way of falling and cracking his skull on the table.
He dropped down into the wing chair, that’d be a fun thing for Emily to explain to the team tomorrow as they visited him in the hospital.
Yeah . . . Hotch leaned back and closed his eyes . . . I’ll just sit here for a minute and everything will be fine.
/////////
Hotch woke up when his head slipped off of his bent arm and slammed into the coffee table beneath him.
“OWWW!“
He rubbed the side of his temple as he looked blearily around the room.
“What the hell am I doing down HERE!?”
The last thing he remembered was sitting down in the chair.
“What the hell was that noise?” came the muffled reply from the lump across the room.
It sounded like one of Kermit’s relatives but Hotch squinted and it looked like he could see some snarled brown hair.
His sleep deprived, hung over . . . okay still slightly drunk . . . brain deduced that the members of the Kermit Klan were bald so that was most likely Emily lying in a contorted heap on the bed.
“Emily.”
Hotch winced, ‘since when was his voice so loud?’
He tried again a little bit softer, “Emily.”
Better. Though now he could hear cursing from the Emily lump.
Emily lifted her head, and through the hair hanging in her face, she could see Hotch sitting on the floor hunched over the coffee table. He was squinting and rubbing his temple.
“Hotch?” Emily pushed herself up further as she yawned, “what are you doing on the floor?”
Actually a better question was, what was she doing in the bed? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was being over there with him.
Hotch pushed himself up and into the end chair behind him.
“I think I started here and then ended up down there.”
Emily gave him a sleepy nod, “okay, one question answered,” then she made an awful face as she smacked her lips, “so now can you tell me why it tastes like something died in mouth?”
She was posing that as a rhetorical question, but to her surprise Hotch actually answered her as he dropped his head down to his knees.
“That would be the worm that you ate out of the tequila bottle,” he yawned, “I told you it was a bad idea.”
Now fully awake and her eyes bugging out, Emily clamped her hand over her mouth.
“WORM?! OH GOD!”
Her gag reflex fully activated, Emily leapt out of bed and sprinted into the bathroom.
With an exhausted sigh Hotch got up and followed after her, tripping over first his shoe and then her boot. He caught himself the first time with a hand on the corner of the bed, and the second time with his face on the carpet.
Yeah . . . he rolled his eyes . . . this was a good time.
He might have been slightly delayed, but even with errant footwear trying to kill him, Emily was still over the bowl when he got into the bathroom.
Lucky him.
That’s okay . . . he rubbed his hand down his face . . . he remembered this part from Haley’s pregnancy.
He leaned down, putting his hand on Emily’s back as he pulled her hair back from her face.
“I told you it was a bad idea to eat the worm,” he muttered under his breath.
Emily took a gulping breath as she turned to him incredulously, “are you really saying ‘I told you so’ to me RIGHT NOW!? NOW,” her voice went up a pitch, “with my head in the toilet?! If you thought it was such a bad idea then you should have stopped me from doing it!”
And with that final pronouncement she turned her head back to the bowl to try out some dry heaving.
Hotch rolled his eyes as he remembered that part too. The part where it was all his fault that the woman was throwing up.
This really was a lovely trip down memory lane. But of course he still stayed with her.
Annoyed or not . . . he rubbed her back . . . he’d never leave her alone if she was sick.
A minute later Emily put her hand back on his knee to leverage herself up.
Hotch put his arm around her waist to help her stand and then he tilted his head down to catch her eyes.
“Better now?”
She nodded a little unsteadily, “yes actually, much better,” she grimaced as she rubbed her temple, “though my head’s killing me and I am very much in need of some mouthwash,” she leaned closer to sniff him, then she winced, “actually Aaron, and you know I say this with all due affection, but,” she patted his cheek, “you really need to brush your teeth right now.”
God . . . his breath smelled terrible!
His mouth gaping, Hotch looked at her in shock for a moment before he pushed past her to the sink.
UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE!
With an angry grunt he took the toothpaste out of her travel bag and started squeezing it onto her toothbrush. Then he began muttering to himself around said toothbrush, “I need to brush MY teeth. I only smell like stale alcohol, SHE smells like stale alcohol, dead insects and vomit, but NO, I’m the one that needs to brush his teeth. Of all the stupid frigging . . .”
Taking a moment to look up and glare at her in the mirror, Hotch suddenly saw that her eyes were welling up.
‘Oh no! You’ve GOT to be kidding me!’
He whipped around, accidentally spitting toothpaste on her as he exclaimed, “are you CRYING!?”
Why was she crying?!
Her face crumpled up as she bit her lip, “why do you have to be so MEAN!?”
“MEAN!?”
Hotch was simultaneously horrified that she thought he was mean, that she was crying over essentially who had the worst morning breath, and really . . . mostly . . . that she was crying at all.
Her crying, no matter how inane the reason, was always REALLY upsetting!
So he tried, rather pathetically, to fix whatever it was that had just upset her.
“I’m not being mean, you’re just . . .” he looked closely at her eyes, “apparently still, really, drunk. Crap.”
His last words all ran together as the light suddenly dawned on him. And then he thought back over his own actions the past few minutes.
Saying ‘I told you so’ to her as she was tossing up a tequila worm really wasn’t his finest hour. Why DID he do that? And he was resentful that she was sick, and then he kind of implied that she was stupid.
She was right . . . he felt a twist in his gut . . . that was mean. Basically he was just being an asshole to her for no reason at all.
OH GOD!
His eyes widened in horror . . . he was still drunk too!
And he was at that horrible cranky stage where he shouldn’t be around anyone. He looked down at his watch.
4:35 a.m.
They were up drinking hard alcohol until at least two . . . so yeah there was no way that they were anything approaching sober yet.
God DAMN it!
He thought he was just a little bit drunk, but if he was being this much of an ass to her there was clearly more than just a little bit of alcohol in his system right now.
Turning back to the sink, he hurriedly spit, rinsed off the brush and put toothpaste back on it again. Then he handed it to Emily who was sniffling as she looked over at him in a slight daze.
Remembering what a complete dick he’d just been to her, he made sure to soften his tone when he spoke, “come on sweetheart, brush, spit, rinse. We need to get a lot more sleep before the sun comes up.”
As she started to brush her teeth he shook his head at her in the mirror, “we cannot show up drunk at the jet. I just can’t list the number of things wrong with that scenario.”
Just in principle that would be horrible! And they certainly couldn’t show up drunk TOGETHER! But especially not after he’d given Derek that big lecture about not doing anything stupid tonight.
He’d never hear the end of it if Morgan saw the two of them dragging their asses onto the plane.
Emily rinsed her mouth and dropped her toothbrush into the glass by the sink. After clearing her throat she murmured softly, “I’m done.”
She knew she really wasn’t in any position to be making decisions about their plan of action, so she was happy to let him take the lead.
Even if he was kind of grumpy.
At her subdued tone, for the first time since they woke up, Hotch looked closely at her.
She really was a mess.
Her hair was in clumps and her eyes were glassy with black mascara rings under them. And then there was the toothpaste in her hair.
The toothpaste that he had spit on her when he was yelling.
She looked vulnerable and he felt . . . bad.
Very . . . very . . . bad.
He’d been mean to her. How could he ever be mean to her?
She was his Emily.
He could feel the lines in his face soften as he pulled her into his arms, “I’m sorry sweetheart,” he turned his head to whisper in her ear, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Emily bit her lip as she hugged him back, “well, I’m sorry I cried.”
Yeah, he had been really grumpy. But she’d never cried just because a man snapped at her. If that was true, between Gideon and Reid she would have spent the first year in the unit walking around with a box of Kleenex under her arm.
Stepping back, Hotch gave her a sad smile as he wiped the toothpaste from her hair. Then he took her hand and started guiding her back into the room.
When they walked out of the bathroom Emily picked up the thread of what she’d just been saying.
“I cry sometimes when I drink tequila,” she shook her head petulantly, “that’s why I don’t drink tequila. I probably should have mentioned that when we started doing shots earlier. Whiskey or vodka would have better.”
Hotch shook his head as he pushed her down onto the bed, “don’t worry about it sweetheart,” he pulled up her covers, “we won’t be doing this again.”
Emily’s eyes started to fill with tears again.
‘Great . . . now he won’t ever want to go out drinking with me again!’
His eyes widened . . . shit! God, they needed to get some sleep. He couldn’t have her bursting into tears every two minutes on the jet.
Hotch sat down on the bed, rubbing her arm as he hurried to elaborate, “no sweetheart, please don’t cry! It was good we did this,” he nodded seriously at her, “really I had a good time. What I meant was next time we go out we’ll do it without ingesting quite so much alcohol. Next time we’ll do it without the early morning vomiting and splitting headaches,” he ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek as he said softly, “okay?”
Wiping the corner of eye with her index finger, Emily gave Hotch a watery smile as she nodded back, “okay.”
His eyes crinkled as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.
How could he have ever been such a jerk to her?
With a shake of his head he went back into the bathroom to pull the Tylenol out of her travel bag. After dry swallowing two pills himself, he shook two more into his hand and brought them back out to Emily with a glass of water.
“Here,” he smiled at her, “take these now, drink all of the water, and then hopefully you won’t put Morgan’s head through the wall when you see him in a few hours.”
Emily swallowed the pills and water, placing the glass on the nightstand before she asked him with a sleepy smile, “why is Morgan the one in danger of mortal injury?”
She loved to listen to Hotch profile her behavior. He was so cute when he thought he had a clue.
But he didn’t answer her right away. And she watched as he began gathering up his gun and suit jacket and shoes from around the room,
Once he was pretty sure that he’d grabbed all of his crap, Hotch sat down on the end of her bed while he pulled on his shoes. Opting not to tie them, he shot a glance over his shoulder as he finally answered her, “because he’s going to be the one that does something to piss you off.”
Stole cold sober Emily and Morgan could go at it like cats and dogs. So God help Derek if she was hung over tomorrow.
She might take his milk money and shove him into his locker just because.
As her lashes started to flutter she murmured back “you think so huh?”
He stood up and walked around the side of the bed. After tucking a strand of hair behind her ear he looked down at her as he whispered, “I know so.”
Then he kissed her forehead and pulled the blankets up around her. He stood there for a moment watching as her breathing evened out.
He still felt guilty for being such a jerk but he was pretty sure that he’d made it up to her. And though he really wished that he could sleep with her, he knew that was a BAD idea.
Even though they were in better shape than when he got into bed with her earlier . . . they were both definitely still drunk.
And he’d already demonstrated some poor decision making skills since they’d woken up. Getting into bed with her again would pretty much top the list of things NOT to do if they didn’t want to wake up in a few hours with a very big oops.
His face softened as he stroked his finger down her cheek . . . he was in love with her. So he very much did not want their first time to be an accidental drunken fumbling like they’d just met in a bar.
The end game here was much too important to risk something like that happening. That’s why he’d gotten up before.
And that’s why he was leaving now.
He kissed her forehead one more time, and then he set her alarm for 7:35 and quietly slipped out of her door and went back down the hall to his room.
A room which . . . due to their case . . . he hadn’t seen much of the past two days.
He set his own alarm for 7:15, stripped off everything he was wearing but his boxers, and dropped face down on the bed.
His last thought before he passed out was about Emily.
‘If I drank what she did without having the extra weight, I probably would have been drunk enough to be crying too.’
//////////
Hotch woke up almost two and a half hours later. Though he wasn’t exactly feeling good, he was feeling notably better than he had been when he’d arrived back at his room. He popped two Tylenol out of his bag, took a quick shower, dressed and packed his few possessions.
He was already down in the lobby asking the concierge where he could find breakfast at just about the same time Emily’s alarm was going off.
/////////
After giving a furtive look around to see if anyone from the team was out and about yet, Hotch rapped twice on Emily’s door.
He heard a cranky, “hold on, I’m coming!” and he had to bite down hard on his lip to keep it from twitching.
Apparently Emily was not feeling quite herself this morning.
Emily yanked the door open with her blouse buttoned halfway up.
“WHAT?!”
She stopped grumping when she realized who it was, “oh. Hi.”
No matter how pissy a mood she was in it was almost impossible to take it out on him.
Almost.
With a nod hello, Hotch pushed his way in as he gave an admiring glance down to her exposed chest, “so are you going to get the rest of those or are you trying to give Reid a heart attack today?”
With a grunt Emily shook her head as she started fastening her shirt again, “you’re the one that interrupted the dressing process.”
Men.
Hotch stared at her fingers as she finished the last button and then watched as she looked up with her eyes wide and asked sarcastically, “better?”
With a shrug, and an “eh,” he reached into the big bag he was carrying.
He actually preferred it the other way but, what are you gonna do?
Emily rolled her eyes in disgust, “nice Aaron. Very nice. I hope you know that was a Morgan’esque response.”
Actually even Morgan knew better than to pull that with her.
Oh yeah . . . her jaw twitched . . . if he kept it up he was definitely getting a smack today.
Hotch looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, “really, has Derek been over to see your breasts this morning too?”
A swift punch to his bicep followed that remark.
His lips twitched . . . God she was fast . . . he’d barely had time to prepare himself for that one.
After the bruise Hotch was sure was now forming, most men would have regretted opening their mouth, but . . . Hotch wasn't most men. He still felt that it had been worth it.
In the meantime . . . he pushed aside some napkins to reach the bottom of the bag . . . he had something to win back her affection.
Grinding her jaw, Emily was just about to unleash her verbal response to Hotch’s breast comment, when he thrust a white cup out in front of him, “hold that thought Holyfield.”
Her face lit up, “oh, my God, I LOVE you!”
Okay . . . that sort of slipped out. But given the context she was pretty sure that he knew it wasn’t a genuine declaration.
So she glided past it as all of her additional retaliatory thoughts were forgotten. With a huge grin, she took the coffee from his outstretched hand, “Ferris Bueller you’re my hero!”
Coffee . . . she took a sip . . . the nectar of the gods. Well, if the gods needed caffeine to perk them up after tying one on.
His brow wrinkled, “what?”
“What, what?” Emily raised an eyebrow, “have you not seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”
He looked over incredulously, “well, yes of course I’ve seen it. But that’s just about the most obscure quote I’ve ever heard anybody use from it. You might as well have said ‘sooner or later everyone goes to the zoo.’”
Emily’s lip quirked up around her coffee cup, “and exactly how many times have you seen Ferris Bueller, Aaron?”
Now flustered, Hotch shook his head, “I don’t really think that’s relevant Emily,” he cleared his throat, trying to change the subject away from his brief infatuation with John Hughes movies, “and why are we talking about Ferris Bueller anyway?”
She shook her head, “I’m not really sure but I think if there was a point here, it caught the last train out of the station.”
Though she made a mental note to follow up on the Ferris Bueller thing at a later date.
Hotch nodded as he walked over to the coffee table and sat down in the end chair.
The end chair that he had fallen asleep in . . . and then fallen out of . . . the night before.
His eyes twinkled as he looked over at her, “come here pretty girl, I brought food too.”
Emily grinned as she hurried over, “ooh! What did you get!?” Before he had a chance to answer she added, “most people can’t look at food when they’re hung over but I’m always starving after I drink.”
As she sat down crossed legged on the floor next to him, Hotch‘s eyes crinkled . . . yet another thing they had in common. He smiled at her, “yeah, I don’t drink that often anymore but I’m always starving too,” he started pulling items out of the bag, “so I went to McDonald’s and bought us junk. Greasy disgusting junk food that people our age have no business eating for breakfast. Hash browns, and those muffin sausage sandwich things.”
Emily gave him a slow grin, “oh baby, if I didn’t think it would slow down the consumption of my food, I would TOTALLY make out with you right now.”
Hotch snorted, “well far be it from me to stand in the way of you and your breakfast. God knows I could lose a limb. So we can delay payment for a later time.”
That was definitely one he was planning on cashing in at some point.
Grinning, Emily started munching on her hash browns, “so what time are we leaving again?”
“Nine thirty,” he added around his bite of sandwich, “but I’m going to head over a little earlier than you guys.”
As he saw the look she was giving him he gave her one back, “Emily, it really wouldn’t do for both of us to show up together looking like we got hit by a truck this morning.”
Emily scowled at him around her coffee, “please, we look fine now.”
And therefore she saw no reason why he had to leave her behind this morning. That was bullshit.
Hotch raised an eyebrow at her, “visually perhaps, but we both sound like we’ve smoked two packs of cigarettes, not to mention,” he nodded at her around his own coffee, “you’re scowling at me because I’m leaving for the airport without you. You’re a little cranky.”
She was actually incredibly cranky. Given that of the two of them he was usually the grumpy one, it was quite amusing for him to see her like this now.
But it was also a dead giveaway that she was hung over, because ordinarily Emily was very even tempered.
Actually she was usually genuinely cheerful.
Today though he had no doubt that she’d be biting people’s heads off as soon as they were out in the world.
Not that he cared if the team knew that she’d been drinking. Or even that the two of them had gone out together. He just didn’t want it to look like the two of them had been up boozing all night.
Which was . . . he rolled his eyes . . . exactly what they HAD been doing.
But his thought was that if he maintained a little physical distance between himself and Emily, then hopefully nobody would put two and two together.
After shooting Hotch a dirty look, Emily raised her voice slightly, “I am not CRANKY!”
With an amused shake of his head Hotch responded flatly, “the tone and the facial expression pretty much killed any effectiveness the words might have had in making that argument,” he added knowingly, “you’re only being nice to me now because I’m feeding you.”
Yeah, there was no way they were hiding her hangover from the team. She was only being nice right now because he’d brought her coffee and food. In that respect Emily was very much like a man.
The way to her heart was through her stomach.
Slightly chastened, Emily mumbled something unintelligible around her bite of English muffin.
He raised his eyebrow, “what was that?”
After swallowing her food, Emily repeated herself, “I said that’s not the ONLY reason I’m being nice to you.”
In response to her half assed apology, Hotch graced her with a dimple. So she couldn’t help giving him a shy smile back.
Yeah, this is why it was basically impossible to be bitchy with him.
As Hotch grabbed another hash brown, Emily started digging around in the bag for napkins. When she got to the bottom, she pulled out an apple pie and her eyes lit up.
“Ooh! Who’s this for?”
Hotch swallowed his bite, “for you. For the plane. You’ll pass out right after we take off, wake up in two hours, and at that point all of the alcohol will have left your body but you’ll be hungry again. Therefore,” he gestured to the pie in her hand, “I bought you a snack. You can heat it up in the microwave. Just don’t forget to throw it in your bag.”
Emily smiled softly . . . was it any wonder why she fell in love with him? He was perfect just as he was. Even if ‘as he was’ included him being a cranky bastard at four o’clock in the morning.
But, given her little snips at him since he'd arrived at her room, they were probably even on that front. Hell, she was a cranky bastard right now and he was still sitting with her, sharing his breakfast. And as she suddenly pictured the remorse on his face last night . . . and the way he’d tucked her in . . . she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
She gently wiped her lipstick off of his skin with the tips of her fingers as she said softly, “thank you for my snack.”
Hotch just gave her a little smile in return . . . and continued to eat his breakfast.
Its a chapter,from "Falling in Love with a Girl".
I love this (long)chapter, its so funny,so I wanted to share it with you.
NOTE: Hotch and Emily are good friends, but they cuddle and kiss, but only like "friends".;)
The Story takes place after The Instincts/Memoriam 4x06/4x07, in Las Vegas.
Under the Influence
“Ready?”
Hotch’s words were slightly slurred as he looked over at Emily. She nodded back firmly, “ready,” and they both pounded back their shots. A second later their glasses slammed down on the bar in synchronicity and Emily grinned at him as she wiped her thumb along the corner of her lip.
“I’m winning!”
It took considerable effort for Hotch to not roll his eyes at that pronouncement. Instead he just pulled her to his chest and looked down, shaking his head sadly, “sorry sweetheart, but you’re down three beers and two shots.”
Again he noticed a slight drag to his words. That meant it was probably time to start thinking about shutting this night down. By his count . . . and he was indeed counting . . . he’d had six shots of tequila. Plus . . . he squinted as he counted back . . . seven beers.
After they had dinner out with the team . . . a dinner that had included two beers and a two glasses of wine respectively . . . Emily had challenged him to a drinking contest. She said it was Vegas and because neither of them gambled, they should do something they wouldn’t normally do. He’d of course said no. He’d said no quite emphatically.
But then she’d broken out that damn pout.
So now here they were, five hours later in the hotel/casino bar, downing shots. They’d started their contest with a trip through the beers of Oktoberfest and now they’d moved onto tequila. Thank God they’d had dinner! But even with the food soaking up the alcohol he knew that they were both still headed for some epic headaches in the morning.
That wasn’t a concern of his at the moment though. Because at the moment . . . he felt Emily’s breath against his throat . . . he was having a really good time.
Not to mention . . . he was totally kicking her ass!
It was barely even a contest.
Not that he should really rank this evening’s outing high on his list of life’s accomplishments. He did outweigh her by fifty pounds. The only real embarrassment here would have been if she’d kicked his ass.
He didn’t consider himself to be a chava . . . chava . . . chava . . . shit! He scowled for a second . . . what was that word?
And then it came to him . . . chauvinist!
No, he certainly didn’t consider himself to be one of those. Definitely not . . . he smacked Emily on the ass . . . this woman right here . . . she was his girl and he had nothing but respect for her.
But still . . . he was a man. And he had his pride. There was NO way he was letting her drink him under the table. Not that they were at a table. They were at the bar.
His brow wrinkled as he suddenly noticed Emily staring at him.
‘Why is she giving me that look?’
Emily looked up at Hotch in astonishment before she started to giggle, “you just slapped my ass!”
He wasn’t quite as drunk as he was the night they went to Smokey’s, but he was still a few steps beyond simply buzzed. She knew that she was drunk too. But it was a silly drunk, not the falling down kind.
Basically she was just enjoying herself immensely.
This contest had started out as just a fun way to kill the night after the rest of the team went off on their merry little ways. But now she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t gotten him to do it before! The divorce outing didn’t count because he was all depressed and his life was falling apart.
He wasn’t exactly a barrel o’laughing monkeys that night.
But they’d had a good day today. They’d gotten that little boy back in his own bed tonight. The UNSUB was off the streets, and with her mental history there was little chance of her getting out again.
It was a win all around. And that was a rarity for them.
So tonight, for a surprising change after a missing child case, Hotch was actually in a good mood. And good mood Hotch with alcohol in his system was hilarious because he had no filter at all.
Random utterances:
. . . He’d had once had a dream that Garcia’s troll doll collection tried to kill him. The next day he banned them from the conference room under the pretext that they were unprofessional. In reality they just scared the shit out of him.
. . . Strauss action figures should come with a broom and a caldron
. . . Dave, with a mullet, got more ass in the eighties than Derek has his entire adult life
. . . Two weeks ago Hotch had gotten a complaint that one of his female agents was using the men’s room. Turned out the ‘female agent’ was Reid. The next day Hotch had to have an awkward conversation with Spencer about considering a haircut that wasn’t quite so androgynous.
Emily laughed so hard at that last one she had to run to the bathroom before she wet her pants.
This was one of the best nights they’d ever had. And she could tell from the indignant scowl on his face that she was about to have even more fun with him.
“I didn’t slap your ass,” Hotch scoffed dismissively as he turned to wave the bartender over again.
Like he would ever do something like that. He’d never slapped a woman’s ass in his life. That’s something Dave would do.
Emily snorted as she started to undo her belt buckle, “you want to see the handprint?”
Not that she was really going to drop trou in the casino bar. But the threat would definitely scare the shit out of him!
“NO!” Hotch grabbed her hand, “Jesus Christ Emily keep your pants on!”
For Christ’s sake they were in the middle of the Bellagio!
It took her only a second to start giggling again as she leaned against him, “you know that’s usually just something people say. I don’t think anyone’s ever told me to keep my pants on and meant it literally.”
And that’s why she threatened to take them off. Just to get a rise out of him.
As her body pressed against his, Hotch wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her up. And then his mouth started to quiver listening to her giggle fit.
She was so cute.
But . . . she bounced her head off of his chest . . . she had just tried to take her pants off in public. And she was now bouncing her head against his chest like she needed a helmet.
It was probably time to call it a night.
So he tipped his head down and whispered, “I think we’ve had enough to drink sweetheart. We should probably get to bed.”
It had to be after one.
Emily’s head whipped up in horror, “WHAT?! No!” she pouted, “Aaron please can we stay out a little longer? We never do anything like this at home.”
Seeing his eyes squinting at her she knew that he was trying to decide what to do. So she decided to take advantage of their inebriated state to get away with something that she couldn’t do sober.
She leaned up and sucked his earlobe into her mouth, running her tongue along the shell of his ear before she whispered to him again, “please?”
Trying very hard to keep his breathing under control . . . that woman could push buttons he didn’t know he had . . . Hotch looked down at Emily again, “fine.” Then his eyebrow rose in amusement, “but I probably would have agreed even if you hadn’t tongued my ear.”
With a grin she wrapped her arms around his neck, “yeah, but I couldn’t risk it.”
As his mouth twitched and his arms came around her body again, locking at her lower back, he realized that they were getting entirely too familiar with one another in public. He wasn’t concerned about their behavior in principle . . . their displays of affection for one another were never a concern with him. Emily sticking her tongue in his ear was just Emily having fun.
And hell, that was fun for everyone!
But he just didn’t want anyone on the team coming along and seeing them like this. It wouldn’t look good.
Actually . . . he felt her sliding her hands under his jacket . . . it would look really bad.
Yeah . . . he took one hand off of her ass to wave down the bartender . . . they needed to get out of here.
The woman came over and smiled at him, “another round?”
With a shake of his head, Hotch started pulling money out of his wallet, “no actually, we’re going to cash out,” as he heard Emily start to whine, “but Aaaaron you said . . .” against his chest he quickly added, “though if you could give me a bottle of Patron to take to our room, thanks.”
The bartender looked askance at him for a moment so he dug out another hundred and dropped that on top of the money for the bill and the bottle of liquor. Then he flashed her both of his dimples, “I know it’s against policy but we’d really appreciate it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if the dimples would work when he had another woman wrapped around him. But to his amazement . . . they did.
As most women did when he flashed the full wattage of his smile, the bartender immediately grinned back.
“Well, I suppose it’s okay as long as you’re not leaving the hotel.”
She reached under the bar and pulled out a full silver bottle. And moments like this made him wonder why he didn’t just pull out the dimples more often. He’d probably make a lot faster progress in his interviews if he did.
Well . . . he watched the bartender stuff the hundred down her shirt . . . with the women anyway.
Realizing he was now staring at the woman’s breasts he quickly looked away. If Emily saw him do that he was dead. He snuck another peek . . . but God she had nice tits!
Emily rolled her head so that she could see the other woman clearly, “nope, we’re most definitely not leaving the hotel,” she nuzzled Hotch’s neck before she purred, “we’re going to my room right honey?”
Not that Emily planned on seducing Hotch this evening.
Definitely NO.
She wasn’t about to let a meaningless Vegas roll in the hay get in the way of her happily ever after plans. And even though she’d actually been joking with this bartender earlier, Emily didn’t much care for the googely eyes that she was flashing at the future father of her children now.
Not that she was going to be a bitch about it, the girl was funny and she seemed nice, Emily was just staking prior claim. She knew Hotch had to flirt to get the bottle, but she wasn’t tolerating any flirting back.
Not when he’d been drinking this much.
Earlier a horrible thought had come to her . . . what if he decided he wanted to get laid! She knew that he . . . like she . . . hadn’t had sex in a LONG time. And this was Vegas after all. That’s what men did here. They came and had meaningless sex with strange women because they were sure they were never going to see them again.
Hell, that’s what Dave and Morgan were out doing right now!
So even if her father might have assured her that Aaron Francis Hotchner was in love with her, she couldn’t risk him getting drunk and doing something stupid. Doing something stupid that she’d have to kill him for later even though she technically held no claim to him.
Basically she was making damn sure that drunk Hotch didn’t get any on her watch.
Always enjoying the privilege of watching Jealous Emily make one of her rare appearances, Hotch smirked as his hand slid around to her hip, “yes sweetheart,” he kissed her temple, “we’re going to your room.”
He knew better than to mess with Jealous Emily. If she was making a point for their comely bartender he had no intention of contradicting the impression she was making. And as far as hellish assignments went, having a beautiful woman that he was in love with plaster herself to his body, well . . . he felt her slide her hand along his belt buckle . . . he’d be willing to suffer through the indignity.
The bartender leaned over the bar top and lowered her voice, “hey, I get off at two. You guys looking for some company?”
These two were the best looking couple she’d seen in awhile.
Hotch’s eyes popped out . . . holy shit! That backfired!
And the last time he was propositioned for a threesome he was in college. God knows he’d never had any interest in participating, but he just couldn’t for the life of him remember how to politely decline. But fortunately Emily stepped up as she leaned towards the bartender with a grin, “maybe next time hon,” she rubbed Hotch’s stomach, “he’s a little tired,” she winked at the other woman, “we might break him.”
She only had to be mean to the woman if she was flirting with just Hotch. But if she wanted to have sex with both of them . . . well, Emily had to be polite. After all, even if Hotch did get drunk and do something stupid she knew that there was no way in hell anyone as straight laced as him would ever entertain the idea of a threesome. Not that Emily would either.
But now with her offer . . . the hot bartender with the perky breasts Hotch was just staring at . . . had nullified herself as competition.
At the woman’s responding laughter . . . a deep and throaty sound . . . Hotch’s ears perked up.
Huh . . . with an appraising eye he looked down at Emily and then over to the shapely breasts being shoved in his face. Well maybe if . . . and then his senses came roaring back and kicked the tiny little Dave part of his brain out of the driver’s seat.
Idiot.
‘First of all you’re not actually sleeping with Emily! Not yet anyway. And you’re sure as hell not going to start that aspect of your relationship as a drunken threesome with your hot bartender!’
He eyed the blonde’s cleavage longingly one more time . . . no matter how nice her breasts.
With a chuckle the woman slid the bottle of alcohol across to Emily, and then she scribbled down her phone number on a cocktail napkin.
“Well, if you two change your mind, or,” she smirked at Emily, “you break him and you’re looking for someone else to play with, just give me a ring.”
Emily looked down at the napkin with a little smile . . . Missy . . . this was too funny. She looked back up with a saucy grin, “Missy, I promise if I do break him tonight you will be the first one I call,” she picked up the bottle, passing it to Hotch as she waved at the woman, “now you have a good night.”
And with that pronouncement Emily looked up at Hotch, “come on hon,” she winked, “I’m starting to sober up.”
He smirked, “well, can’t have that,” he shot a dimple at Missy as they walked away, “maybe we’ll see you later.”
She yelled back, “I hope so!” and almost instantaneously Hotch felt Emily’s nails dig into his stomach. Fortunately he had years of self discipline to call on to keep from reacting, but as soon as they were clear from the bartender he looked down at her.
“What? You’re the one who was flirting with her,” he added drily, “I was just being polite.”
Emily rolled her eyes, “polite my ass, you were checking out her tits.”
Like he didn’t know his little comment was going to get him in trouble.
His eyes widened in indignation, “she was shoving them in my face! What else was I supposed to look at?”
For Christ’s sake it was like a solar eclipse. He knew Emily was going to kill him for it . . . yet . . . he couldn’t look away.
“And besides,” he added with a scoff, “you were the one she really wanted, not me.”
At the slight scowl on his face Emily’s irritation with him faded and she started to giggle again, “um, are you jealous or offended?”
His brow wrinkled and then he shook his head as he looked down at her, “you know, I’m not quite sure.”
Emily chuckled as she wrapped her arm around his waist, “you know she really wasn’t my type. You know what with not having a penis or anything.”
He snorted and pulled her closer to his side.
‘Yeah, he was pretty far gone if he was jealous of other WOMEN now!’
As they continued along towards the elevators Emily became less cooperative on the forward momentum front. She kept stopping to look and point at people.
Hotch sighed . . . apparently anything shiny was going to keep catching her eye. And as he looked wearily ahead, he knew that the elevator banks were still a bit of a hike.
This was Vegas after all and their hotel was enormous.
He grunted as she tugged on his arm again . . . at this rate they’d be getting to the elevators about in time to catch the jet home.
So he did what he had a vague memory of doing once before . . . he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
Again, it was Vegas so nobody paid them any attention. And it was a straight shot to the elevator from their position now. And though her continuous giggling . . . and the six shots of tequila he’d downed were a slight distraction to him . . . he was doing pretty well making progress across the ground floor.
That was until two burly officers from hotel security stepped out in front of him.
The bigger of the two Conans gestured to Emily’s hip, “ma’am, do you have a permit for that?”
That’s when Hotch noticed that her weapon was now exposed because she was half over his shoulder.
Before she could respond Hotch answered for her, “she does and she has a badge too. If I may . . .” he gave them an expectant look and they nodded so he slipped two fingers inside his front jacket pocket and pulled out his shield.
While the guard was looking at his badge, Hotch lowered Emily to the ground, tugging her in front of him as he slipped one hand around her waist and the other into her pocket. He knew that she was more than capable of digging out her own credentials, but for some reason he was feeling very possessive and well . . . alpha, at the moment.
Maybe it was the tequila. Hard alcohol did weird things to his brain.
He pulled out her badge and handed that one to the other guard.
Emily very helpfully wrapped her arm around Hotch’s neck as she waved with her other hand, “hi, I’m me!”
Feeling his lips begin to twitch, Hotch tightened his hold on her waist, “Agent Prentiss. Her name is Agent Prentiss. And I’m Agent Hotchner and we’re just on our way upstairs.”
The guard chuckled as he handed Hotch back both sets of credentials, “you two have a good night.”
Hotch nodded his thanks as he gave her back her badge, shoving his own into his pocket as they started to walk away. That’s when Emily leaned around and called over his shoulder back to the guard, “oh we will have a good night. We might have a threesome later with Missy the hot bartender!”
Not that they really were but the whole idea of it seriously cracked her up.
As Hotch started to chuckle, one of the guards hurried up beside them, “I know Missy. And if you’re looking for one more,” he gave Hotch a look, “I get off in ten minutes.”
Ignoring the snickering woman at his side, Hotch called upon all of his considerable self control as he tipped his head over to Emily and said seriously, “sorry, but she gets jealous.”
Emily piped up from under his arm, “I do,” and then she took note of the features of the man propositioning them and she grinned, “though you are pretty cute,” she reached out and touched his face, “love those dimples.”
Of course they weren’t as good as Hotch’s but . . . whose were?
Hotch’s brow darkened as he tugged her back, then he gave the kid a hard look, “sorry, our dance card’s full,” and with that he took Emily’s hand and continued on through the lobby.
Fortunately the elevator banks were just around the corner because he wasn’t in the mood to put up with any more . . . distractions, on their way upstairs.
As they stood there waiting in silence for the elevator to arrive Hotch’s jaw began to twitch.
Dimples.
The kid HAD to have dimples!
He shot a look down to Emily at his side, but she seemed to be oblivious to his annoyance. And her complete obliviousness about how upset he was irritated him even more.
But his anger was really more at himself than at her. It was his own stupid fault for not making his feelings clear. What the hell did he expect? As far as she knew they were just friends.
Okay, maybe they weren’t JUST friends, but they were certainly platonic. So if she wanted to admire some other guy’s dimples then how the hell was she supposed to know how pissed off that was going to make him.
Then his anger circled back around . . . but wait though, that was THEIR thing! Her obsession with HIS dimples was their thing! How could she just go touching some other guy’s face like that?!
THAT was NOT okay!
Emily tipped her head over to Hotch’s shoulder, trying to decide if she should be drinking more tequila or downing a gallon of water. She decided to go with tequila. She was never going to get Hotch this loose again, might as well continue to take advantage. Though . . . she lifted her head up to look at his profile . . . he seemed a little tense.
What’s up with him?
As the elevator dinged it’s arrival another couple walked up to the doors. They were just about to step on when Hotch shot them a look and they murmured that they’d get the next one.
After the doors shut, Emily finally took note of the tension radiating from Hotch’s body and she frowned at him, “are you mad at me?”
Why he’d be mad she didn’t know, but he certainly seemed to be.
Hotch’s jaw twitched as he jerked his head to the side. Then he swallowed before biting out a clipped, “no.”
YES!!!!!!
Her brow furrowed in concern . . . well, that didn’t sound sincere.
Emily stared at him, trying to dig past the slight marination of her brain to read him like she usually would. Now why would he be angry with her? Why would he suddenly be . . . and then she had it.
Jealous.
He was jealous because of what she’d said to that kid. That’s why he was doing a fairly good impression of a stone tablet right now.
Well . . . she pouted at him . . . that was just ridiculous, like she really wanted anyone else. She’d just been distracted by the kid’s dimples. She was always distracted by dimples now.
They reminded her of Hotch.
But . . . she sighed . . . Hotch didn’t know that. He thought she was flirting right in front of him. And after what her dad had just confirmed for her yesterday, she could see how very uncool that would be. After all, if he’d been feeling up another woman’s face in front of her she’d be giving him an extremely cold shoulder right now too.
Amends needed to be made.
So she moved over and wrapped her arms around his waist as she said conversationally, “you know that kid really wasn’t that good looking.”
Making sure to keep his hands at his side, Hotch glanced down at her dismissively, “really? Because you seemed to think he was pretty cute a few minutes ago.”
She rubbed her cheek on his jacket, “yeah, but now I’ve thought about it. His ears stuck out and he kind of had buck teeth.”
Seeing that she was trying to make amends, Hotch felt some of the tension leave his body.
He didn’t want to be angry at her.
Why would he want to be angry at her when they were having such a good night? That was stupid.
And a waste of a good time.
His arms slid around her waist and he raised his eyebrow as he asked suspiciously, “and what about the dimples?”
Just because he’d decided he didn’t want to be angry didn’t mean he was completely okay with what had happened. She’d still hurt his feelings.
But of course Emily’s response made it impossible to stay mad at her. She pashaw’ed and rolled her eyes.
“PLEASE! Those are just craters in his face!”
His mouth started to quiver as she leaned back, reaching up to run her hands around his mouth, “now your dimples,” she nodded seriously, “THESE babies are dimples. Which is why I always compare all other . . . dimples, to your dimples,” and then she gave him a shy smile, “and all of the other dimples always come up lacking.”
There . . . even with the alcohol in his system that should be clear to him.
Despite his best efforts, Hotch couldn’t stop the superior dimples in question from making an appearance as he grinned like an idiot, “really?”
Every man she meets she compares to him. And they all come up short . . . wow! That was way more than he was expecting. He was just thinking he’d get a sorry for flirting.
She pulled him down, pressing a kiss on his lips before she nodded again seriously, “really, really.”
With all the alcohol they’d ingested she couldn’t keep her lips off of him tonight. That’s okay though, it was Vegas and they’d been drinking. Provided they didn’t do anything stupid . . . like totally start making out . . . then all the regular kissing was fine.
Everything would go back to normal when they got home.
Her earlier flirting not only forgiven, but now completely forgotten, Hotch pulled Emily to his chest and dipped his head down next to hers. He placed a kiss on her temple before he whispered, “you have way better breasts than Missy.”
Emily snorted and burst out laughing as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, “thank you,” then she tipped her head back slightly to give him a happy nod, “and I think now we’re even!”
Hotch grinned back at her . . . how could he have gotten pissed off at her about something so stupid. He started to lean in to see if he could get away with stealing one more quick kiss when . . . to his chagrin . . . the elevator doors opened.
And who was standing there?
Dave.
He rolled his eyes . . . great. This was definitely a moment in time that was going to get tossed back in his face.
Ross smirked at the display in front of him. Boy Hotch looked pissed! But he wasn’t sure if it was pissed because he’d caught them doing something, or interrupted them before they did something.
Either way he decided to throw some fuel on the fire as he smirked, “get a room.”
Hotch rolled his eyes but Emily turned her head to him with a grin, “DAVE!” she leaned back against Hotch’s chest, “you’ll enjoy this, we just turned down TWO offers for a threesome!”
As he saw Hotch standing behind her turning beet red, Rossi started to crack up, “good call turning those down honey! They’re never as much fun as they sound,” he winked at her, “too much work.”
As she started laughing the door banged against Dave’s hand, and he tipped his head towards the empty corridor, “you guys getting off or what?”
She grinned and tugged on Hotch’s hand, “we are, we’re in the middle of a contest and I’m winning.”
Hotch rolled his eyes at Dave as he passed him in the open elevator doorway, “she’s not winning. She just thinks she’s winning.”
Rossi blinked at the smell coming off of both of them as they walked passed.
‘Christ, they’d been drinking! That was a first. But certainly not a moment that could go with comment.’
So he poked his head around the corner, calling after them, “you kids don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Then he cracked up as he saw Hotch flip him off behind his back.
With a grin, Rossi nodded to himself as he pulled his head in and the elevator doors shut.
‘Good, maybe Hotch will finally get laid.’
//////////
After they walked into her room Emily insisted on finishing their drinking game. Hotch obliged her because that’s what he always did now.
An hour later the small bottle was half empty and Emily starting dropping her clothes on the floor. As much as he was enjoying the show, Hotch stopped her before she pulled her shirt over her head. On slightly unsteady feet he went over and dug her pajamas out of her bag before giving her a little push towards the bathroom.
When Emily came back out a few minutes later she saw that Hotch was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling.
As she realized how bleary he was in her vision, she knew that they’d definitely had more than enough to drink. Basically it was all starting to catch up with them now.
She went over and straddled his waist, dropping down on his stomach.
At his, “oomph,” she realized that she might have dropped down a little too hard. She grinned at him as she leaned forward and brushed her fingers through his hair, “sorry honey.”
His eyes crinkled as his hands came up to slide along her hips, “s’okay. You can drop on me anytime you want.”
And preferably in a few months she’d have a lot less clothes on when she did it.
Yep . . . his fingers slid under the edges of her shirt . . . naked Emily dropping was definitely something to look forward to.
Leaning forward a bit more she placed one hand on either side of his head as she whispered back with a smile, “I’ll remember that.”
They stared at each other for a second and then he broke the moment by waggling his eyebrows at her.
Emily burst out laughing, “God, you’re so adorable,” she pressed her lips to his . . . and pulled back to see his raised eyebrow.
“That’s all I get for being adorable? A quick peck on the lips? I bet Missy would have at least gone to five Mississippis there.”
Ordinarily he wouldn’t be taunting her into a make out, but they were now nicely wasted. And they were in Vegas. If he couldn’t get a decent kiss from her after they polished off half a bottle of tequila then he was getting a refund on the Patron.
Emily giggled at his Missy comment and then licked her lips as she stared down at him. He was right though. If the kiss was reward for his relative adorability, hell, he should have gotten some tongue for the dimples alone!
And they were both pretty drunk right now so she figured as far as kissing went . . . it was anything goes.
So she was most definitely going to take advantage.
She lowered herself on top of him, her lips coming down to meet his. Then his mouth opened and her tongue slipped inside, running along, tasting the tequila on him just as she knew that he could taste it on her.
This is what Vegas was for . . . she sucked on his tongue . . . getting to do stuff that you couldn’t usually do.
And if they had to drink a bottle of tequila to get in a solid kiss to tide her over until things moved to the next step . . . well, that was just fine with her. Things would still be normal between them when they go home.
After all . . . what happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas.
As Emily started to pull away Hotch rolled her beneath him, returning the favor as he plundered the depths of her mouth. He wasn’t stopping until he had at least one moan, and once he heard it, he pulled back and winked at her, “you’re pretty adorable yourself.”
Though she was still trying to catch her breath, Emily flashed him a brilliant grin, “thanks.”
Hotch stared at her . . . God he wanted to kiss her again. But more kissing would be bad. Anymore kissing would lead to full on making out.
Though, now that a little bit of his brain was trying to be responsible, he realized that continuing to lie on top of her would lead to stuff too.
So he rolled onto his back again.
He lay there for a moment, catching his breath before suddenly realizing that he no longer had a warm body on top of him.
His brow furrowed in confusion . . . where was Emily? With a slight turn of his head he saw that she was a few feet away, lying on the floor looking over at him incredulously, “you dumped me!”
His eyes widened, “oops,” he reached for her, “sorry sweetheart,” he held out his hand, wiggling his fingers, “come back, I promise I won’t do it again.”
Christ he was drunk if he was losing her in a simple roll over!
With a pout Emily crawled over and climbed on top of him again. Then she lay her head down on his chest grumbling, “I bet Missy wouldn’t have dropped me on the floor.”
He started to chuckle as he kissed her head, “I’m sorry sweetheart. In case you haven’t noticed, I have been drinking,” he huffed, “just be glad I wasn’t carrying you. And as to Missy, that might be true, but with those fake boobs of hers I’m pretty sure you’d have a crick in your neck trying to lie on top of her like this.”
Emily burst out laughing, “that’s true!” she rubbed her hands along his chest, “you see, that’s why I keep you around. You’re a good pillow.”
And to prove her point she cuddled in closer, sighing as his arms wrapped around her. For once she wasn’t even cold.
Probably because of all the alcohol.
As Emily’s breath began to even out, Hotch rubbed her back, “sweetheart, we can’t fall asleep here.”
They were going to be a mess in the morning anyway, but bad backs and stiff necks didn’t need to be added into the mix. It wasn’t like when they deliberately slept on the floor because JJ was over, he didn’t even have a frigging pillow!
But as he ran his fingers up and down Emily’s back murmuring to her with no response, he realized that she’d already passed out.
He blew out a puff of air . . . great.
As appealing as it would be to simply close his eyes too, he knew that really wasn’t an option. And if he didn’t move now then the option portion of the evening would be over.
Because he was definitely going to be passing out shortly as well.
So he took a breath . . . made sure to hold Emily tightly to his chest . . . and rolled to the side.
Sober picking her up was a fluid motion. Drunk, well, he wasn’t so sure how that was going to go. Therefore he gently placed her on the carpet so he could stand up on his own first.
‘A bit steady, but not tilting at windmills.’
Okay . . . he psyched himself up . . . you can do this.
He stooped down, catching himself before he toppled over completely, and slipped his arms underneath her body. Once he was sure that not only did he have a good grip . . . but that he was also properly balanced . . . he pulled her to his chest and slowly stood up.
When he found himself completely vertical with her still clutched to his body, he felt a ridiculous surge of pride.
He huffed to himself . . . yeah Aaron . . . maybe they’ll make drunk girl lifting an Olympic sport.
Chuckling at his own stupid joke . . . yeah he’d had way too much to drink . . . Hotch went over and placed Emily on the bed. He turned to fix the covers and then moved her over.
After he had her settled, he put his hand on the mattress to steady himself as he kicked off his shoes. And then . . . out of habit . . . he climbed over her and got under the covers.
Per usual he pulled her to his body and wrapped his arms around her waist. And then he pushed her hair back so he could kiss her neck.
No problems there.
It wasn’t until he realized that his fingers were tracing circles on her bare skin that he realized he was in trouble. Somehow . . . he wasn’t quite sure how . . . his hand had slipped under her t shirt and was sliding along her stomach.
He yanked it back like it was scalded.
SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING?!
Not that he’d touched her anywhere inappropriately, but still, the point was that he was doing it without thinking.
He did NOT make a habit of putting his hands under Emily’s shirt. She might do it to him under the pretext of keeping her hands warm, but it’s not like they were working the same equipment under there.
That was a hands off area for him.
So what was he . . . and that’s when he felt the twitch and realized that he really wanted to have sex.
Really, REALLY wanted to have sex.
SHIT!
With a groan he rolled onto his back.
It was the God damn tequila!
Hard alcohol and a beautiful woman were a very dangerous combination when you hadn’t had sex in over a year.
Christ . . . he rolled his eyes . . . for as well as his libido was running at the moment he might as well take some frigging Viagra while he was at it. Not only did he and Emily not have that kind relationship . . . ‘right now’ his brain automatically added . . . she was SLEEPING!
Even if sex had been in the cards tonight, it sure as hell wasn’t in the cards with her passed out.
He sighed as he shifted more towards the nightstand. Maybe he could just stay on his own side of the bed and things would settle down on their own.
Of course at that moment Emily rolled over and snuggled into his side.
As he felt another inconvenient twitch he realized that he definitely needed to get up before a cold shower was needed.
Okay, this has been fun . . . he scrubbed his hands down his face . . . but it’s time to go back to your own room now Aaron.
With a weary sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled across the room to grab his gun and holster off the small table.
But once he reached the corner of the room . . . he put his hand out to steady himself on the arm chair . . . he started feeling a bit queasy.
Probably shouldn’t have gotten up so quickly. Or more likely probably shouldn’t have been drinking for five hours straight.
Well, whatever it was, he decided that it was best that he sit down for a second until the room stopped spinning.
Less chance that way of falling and cracking his skull on the table.
He dropped down into the wing chair, that’d be a fun thing for Emily to explain to the team tomorrow as they visited him in the hospital.
Yeah . . . Hotch leaned back and closed his eyes . . . I’ll just sit here for a minute and everything will be fine.
/////////
Hotch woke up when his head slipped off of his bent arm and slammed into the coffee table beneath him.
“OWWW!“
He rubbed the side of his temple as he looked blearily around the room.
“What the hell am I doing down HERE!?”
The last thing he remembered was sitting down in the chair.
“What the hell was that noise?” came the muffled reply from the lump across the room.
It sounded like one of Kermit’s relatives but Hotch squinted and it looked like he could see some snarled brown hair.
His sleep deprived, hung over . . . okay still slightly drunk . . . brain deduced that the members of the Kermit Klan were bald so that was most likely Emily lying in a contorted heap on the bed.
“Emily.”
Hotch winced, ‘since when was his voice so loud?’
He tried again a little bit softer, “Emily.”
Better. Though now he could hear cursing from the Emily lump.
Emily lifted her head, and through the hair hanging in her face, she could see Hotch sitting on the floor hunched over the coffee table. He was squinting and rubbing his temple.
“Hotch?” Emily pushed herself up further as she yawned, “what are you doing on the floor?”
Actually a better question was, what was she doing in the bed? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was being over there with him.
Hotch pushed himself up and into the end chair behind him.
“I think I started here and then ended up down there.”
Emily gave him a sleepy nod, “okay, one question answered,” then she made an awful face as she smacked her lips, “so now can you tell me why it tastes like something died in mouth?”
She was posing that as a rhetorical question, but to her surprise Hotch actually answered her as he dropped his head down to his knees.
“That would be the worm that you ate out of the tequila bottle,” he yawned, “I told you it was a bad idea.”
Now fully awake and her eyes bugging out, Emily clamped her hand over her mouth.
“WORM?! OH GOD!”
Her gag reflex fully activated, Emily leapt out of bed and sprinted into the bathroom.
With an exhausted sigh Hotch got up and followed after her, tripping over first his shoe and then her boot. He caught himself the first time with a hand on the corner of the bed, and the second time with his face on the carpet.
Yeah . . . he rolled his eyes . . . this was a good time.
He might have been slightly delayed, but even with errant footwear trying to kill him, Emily was still over the bowl when he got into the bathroom.
Lucky him.
That’s okay . . . he rubbed his hand down his face . . . he remembered this part from Haley’s pregnancy.
He leaned down, putting his hand on Emily’s back as he pulled her hair back from her face.
“I told you it was a bad idea to eat the worm,” he muttered under his breath.
Emily took a gulping breath as she turned to him incredulously, “are you really saying ‘I told you so’ to me RIGHT NOW!? NOW,” her voice went up a pitch, “with my head in the toilet?! If you thought it was such a bad idea then you should have stopped me from doing it!”
And with that final pronouncement she turned her head back to the bowl to try out some dry heaving.
Hotch rolled his eyes as he remembered that part too. The part where it was all his fault that the woman was throwing up.
This really was a lovely trip down memory lane. But of course he still stayed with her.
Annoyed or not . . . he rubbed her back . . . he’d never leave her alone if she was sick.
A minute later Emily put her hand back on his knee to leverage herself up.
Hotch put his arm around her waist to help her stand and then he tilted his head down to catch her eyes.
“Better now?”
She nodded a little unsteadily, “yes actually, much better,” she grimaced as she rubbed her temple, “though my head’s killing me and I am very much in need of some mouthwash,” she leaned closer to sniff him, then she winced, “actually Aaron, and you know I say this with all due affection, but,” she patted his cheek, “you really need to brush your teeth right now.”
God . . . his breath smelled terrible!
His mouth gaping, Hotch looked at her in shock for a moment before he pushed past her to the sink.
UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE!
With an angry grunt he took the toothpaste out of her travel bag and started squeezing it onto her toothbrush. Then he began muttering to himself around said toothbrush, “I need to brush MY teeth. I only smell like stale alcohol, SHE smells like stale alcohol, dead insects and vomit, but NO, I’m the one that needs to brush his teeth. Of all the stupid frigging . . .”
Taking a moment to look up and glare at her in the mirror, Hotch suddenly saw that her eyes were welling up.
‘Oh no! You’ve GOT to be kidding me!’
He whipped around, accidentally spitting toothpaste on her as he exclaimed, “are you CRYING!?”
Why was she crying?!
Her face crumpled up as she bit her lip, “why do you have to be so MEAN!?”
“MEAN!?”
Hotch was simultaneously horrified that she thought he was mean, that she was crying over essentially who had the worst morning breath, and really . . . mostly . . . that she was crying at all.
Her crying, no matter how inane the reason, was always REALLY upsetting!
So he tried, rather pathetically, to fix whatever it was that had just upset her.
“I’m not being mean, you’re just . . .” he looked closely at her eyes, “apparently still, really, drunk. Crap.”
His last words all ran together as the light suddenly dawned on him. And then he thought back over his own actions the past few minutes.
Saying ‘I told you so’ to her as she was tossing up a tequila worm really wasn’t his finest hour. Why DID he do that? And he was resentful that she was sick, and then he kind of implied that she was stupid.
She was right . . . he felt a twist in his gut . . . that was mean. Basically he was just being an asshole to her for no reason at all.
OH GOD!
His eyes widened in horror . . . he was still drunk too!
And he was at that horrible cranky stage where he shouldn’t be around anyone. He looked down at his watch.
4:35 a.m.
They were up drinking hard alcohol until at least two . . . so yeah there was no way that they were anything approaching sober yet.
God DAMN it!
He thought he was just a little bit drunk, but if he was being this much of an ass to her there was clearly more than just a little bit of alcohol in his system right now.
Turning back to the sink, he hurriedly spit, rinsed off the brush and put toothpaste back on it again. Then he handed it to Emily who was sniffling as she looked over at him in a slight daze.
Remembering what a complete dick he’d just been to her, he made sure to soften his tone when he spoke, “come on sweetheart, brush, spit, rinse. We need to get a lot more sleep before the sun comes up.”
As she started to brush her teeth he shook his head at her in the mirror, “we cannot show up drunk at the jet. I just can’t list the number of things wrong with that scenario.”
Just in principle that would be horrible! And they certainly couldn’t show up drunk TOGETHER! But especially not after he’d given Derek that big lecture about not doing anything stupid tonight.
He’d never hear the end of it if Morgan saw the two of them dragging their asses onto the plane.
Emily rinsed her mouth and dropped her toothbrush into the glass by the sink. After clearing her throat she murmured softly, “I’m done.”
She knew she really wasn’t in any position to be making decisions about their plan of action, so she was happy to let him take the lead.
Even if he was kind of grumpy.
At her subdued tone, for the first time since they woke up, Hotch looked closely at her.
She really was a mess.
Her hair was in clumps and her eyes were glassy with black mascara rings under them. And then there was the toothpaste in her hair.
The toothpaste that he had spit on her when he was yelling.
She looked vulnerable and he felt . . . bad.
Very . . . very . . . bad.
He’d been mean to her. How could he ever be mean to her?
She was his Emily.
He could feel the lines in his face soften as he pulled her into his arms, “I’m sorry sweetheart,” he turned his head to whisper in her ear, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Emily bit her lip as she hugged him back, “well, I’m sorry I cried.”
Yeah, he had been really grumpy. But she’d never cried just because a man snapped at her. If that was true, between Gideon and Reid she would have spent the first year in the unit walking around with a box of Kleenex under her arm.
Stepping back, Hotch gave her a sad smile as he wiped the toothpaste from her hair. Then he took her hand and started guiding her back into the room.
When they walked out of the bathroom Emily picked up the thread of what she’d just been saying.
“I cry sometimes when I drink tequila,” she shook her head petulantly, “that’s why I don’t drink tequila. I probably should have mentioned that when we started doing shots earlier. Whiskey or vodka would have better.”
Hotch shook his head as he pushed her down onto the bed, “don’t worry about it sweetheart,” he pulled up her covers, “we won’t be doing this again.”
Emily’s eyes started to fill with tears again.
‘Great . . . now he won’t ever want to go out drinking with me again!’
His eyes widened . . . shit! God, they needed to get some sleep. He couldn’t have her bursting into tears every two minutes on the jet.
Hotch sat down on the bed, rubbing her arm as he hurried to elaborate, “no sweetheart, please don’t cry! It was good we did this,” he nodded seriously at her, “really I had a good time. What I meant was next time we go out we’ll do it without ingesting quite so much alcohol. Next time we’ll do it without the early morning vomiting and splitting headaches,” he ran the back of his knuckles down her cheek as he said softly, “okay?”
Wiping the corner of eye with her index finger, Emily gave Hotch a watery smile as she nodded back, “okay.”
His eyes crinkled as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.
How could he have ever been such a jerk to her?
With a shake of his head he went back into the bathroom to pull the Tylenol out of her travel bag. After dry swallowing two pills himself, he shook two more into his hand and brought them back out to Emily with a glass of water.
“Here,” he smiled at her, “take these now, drink all of the water, and then hopefully you won’t put Morgan’s head through the wall when you see him in a few hours.”
Emily swallowed the pills and water, placing the glass on the nightstand before she asked him with a sleepy smile, “why is Morgan the one in danger of mortal injury?”
She loved to listen to Hotch profile her behavior. He was so cute when he thought he had a clue.
But he didn’t answer her right away. And she watched as he began gathering up his gun and suit jacket and shoes from around the room,
Once he was pretty sure that he’d grabbed all of his crap, Hotch sat down on the end of her bed while he pulled on his shoes. Opting not to tie them, he shot a glance over his shoulder as he finally answered her, “because he’s going to be the one that does something to piss you off.”
Stole cold sober Emily and Morgan could go at it like cats and dogs. So God help Derek if she was hung over tomorrow.
She might take his milk money and shove him into his locker just because.
As her lashes started to flutter she murmured back “you think so huh?”
He stood up and walked around the side of the bed. After tucking a strand of hair behind her ear he looked down at her as he whispered, “I know so.”
Then he kissed her forehead and pulled the blankets up around her. He stood there for a moment watching as her breathing evened out.
He still felt guilty for being such a jerk but he was pretty sure that he’d made it up to her. And though he really wished that he could sleep with her, he knew that was a BAD idea.
Even though they were in better shape than when he got into bed with her earlier . . . they were both definitely still drunk.
And he’d already demonstrated some poor decision making skills since they’d woken up. Getting into bed with her again would pretty much top the list of things NOT to do if they didn’t want to wake up in a few hours with a very big oops.
His face softened as he stroked his finger down her cheek . . . he was in love with her. So he very much did not want their first time to be an accidental drunken fumbling like they’d just met in a bar.
The end game here was much too important to risk something like that happening. That’s why he’d gotten up before.
And that’s why he was leaving now.
He kissed her forehead one more time, and then he set her alarm for 7:35 and quietly slipped out of her door and went back down the hall to his room.
A room which . . . due to their case . . . he hadn’t seen much of the past two days.
He set his own alarm for 7:15, stripped off everything he was wearing but his boxers, and dropped face down on the bed.
His last thought before he passed out was about Emily.
‘If I drank what she did without having the extra weight, I probably would have been drunk enough to be crying too.’
//////////
Hotch woke up almost two and a half hours later. Though he wasn’t exactly feeling good, he was feeling notably better than he had been when he’d arrived back at his room. He popped two Tylenol out of his bag, took a quick shower, dressed and packed his few possessions.
He was already down in the lobby asking the concierge where he could find breakfast at just about the same time Emily’s alarm was going off.
/////////
After giving a furtive look around to see if anyone from the team was out and about yet, Hotch rapped twice on Emily’s door.
He heard a cranky, “hold on, I’m coming!” and he had to bite down hard on his lip to keep it from twitching.
Apparently Emily was not feeling quite herself this morning.
Emily yanked the door open with her blouse buttoned halfway up.
“WHAT?!”
She stopped grumping when she realized who it was, “oh. Hi.”
No matter how pissy a mood she was in it was almost impossible to take it out on him.
Almost.
With a nod hello, Hotch pushed his way in as he gave an admiring glance down to her exposed chest, “so are you going to get the rest of those or are you trying to give Reid a heart attack today?”
With a grunt Emily shook her head as she started fastening her shirt again, “you’re the one that interrupted the dressing process.”
Men.
Hotch stared at her fingers as she finished the last button and then watched as she looked up with her eyes wide and asked sarcastically, “better?”
With a shrug, and an “eh,” he reached into the big bag he was carrying.
He actually preferred it the other way but, what are you gonna do?
Emily rolled her eyes in disgust, “nice Aaron. Very nice. I hope you know that was a Morgan’esque response.”
Actually even Morgan knew better than to pull that with her.
Oh yeah . . . her jaw twitched . . . if he kept it up he was definitely getting a smack today.
Hotch looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, “really, has Derek been over to see your breasts this morning too?”
A swift punch to his bicep followed that remark.
His lips twitched . . . God she was fast . . . he’d barely had time to prepare himself for that one.
After the bruise Hotch was sure was now forming, most men would have regretted opening their mouth, but . . . Hotch wasn't most men. He still felt that it had been worth it.
In the meantime . . . he pushed aside some napkins to reach the bottom of the bag . . . he had something to win back her affection.
Grinding her jaw, Emily was just about to unleash her verbal response to Hotch’s breast comment, when he thrust a white cup out in front of him, “hold that thought Holyfield.”
Her face lit up, “oh, my God, I LOVE you!”
Okay . . . that sort of slipped out. But given the context she was pretty sure that he knew it wasn’t a genuine declaration.
So she glided past it as all of her additional retaliatory thoughts were forgotten. With a huge grin, she took the coffee from his outstretched hand, “Ferris Bueller you’re my hero!”
Coffee . . . she took a sip . . . the nectar of the gods. Well, if the gods needed caffeine to perk them up after tying one on.
His brow wrinkled, “what?”
“What, what?” Emily raised an eyebrow, “have you not seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”
He looked over incredulously, “well, yes of course I’ve seen it. But that’s just about the most obscure quote I’ve ever heard anybody use from it. You might as well have said ‘sooner or later everyone goes to the zoo.’”
Emily’s lip quirked up around her coffee cup, “and exactly how many times have you seen Ferris Bueller, Aaron?”
Now flustered, Hotch shook his head, “I don’t really think that’s relevant Emily,” he cleared his throat, trying to change the subject away from his brief infatuation with John Hughes movies, “and why are we talking about Ferris Bueller anyway?”
She shook her head, “I’m not really sure but I think if there was a point here, it caught the last train out of the station.”
Though she made a mental note to follow up on the Ferris Bueller thing at a later date.
Hotch nodded as he walked over to the coffee table and sat down in the end chair.
The end chair that he had fallen asleep in . . . and then fallen out of . . . the night before.
His eyes twinkled as he looked over at her, “come here pretty girl, I brought food too.”
Emily grinned as she hurried over, “ooh! What did you get!?” Before he had a chance to answer she added, “most people can’t look at food when they’re hung over but I’m always starving after I drink.”
As she sat down crossed legged on the floor next to him, Hotch‘s eyes crinkled . . . yet another thing they had in common. He smiled at her, “yeah, I don’t drink that often anymore but I’m always starving too,” he started pulling items out of the bag, “so I went to McDonald’s and bought us junk. Greasy disgusting junk food that people our age have no business eating for breakfast. Hash browns, and those muffin sausage sandwich things.”
Emily gave him a slow grin, “oh baby, if I didn’t think it would slow down the consumption of my food, I would TOTALLY make out with you right now.”
Hotch snorted, “well far be it from me to stand in the way of you and your breakfast. God knows I could lose a limb. So we can delay payment for a later time.”
That was definitely one he was planning on cashing in at some point.
Grinning, Emily started munching on her hash browns, “so what time are we leaving again?”
“Nine thirty,” he added around his bite of sandwich, “but I’m going to head over a little earlier than you guys.”
As he saw the look she was giving him he gave her one back, “Emily, it really wouldn’t do for both of us to show up together looking like we got hit by a truck this morning.”
Emily scowled at him around her coffee, “please, we look fine now.”
And therefore she saw no reason why he had to leave her behind this morning. That was bullshit.
Hotch raised an eyebrow at her, “visually perhaps, but we both sound like we’ve smoked two packs of cigarettes, not to mention,” he nodded at her around his own coffee, “you’re scowling at me because I’m leaving for the airport without you. You’re a little cranky.”
She was actually incredibly cranky. Given that of the two of them he was usually the grumpy one, it was quite amusing for him to see her like this now.
But it was also a dead giveaway that she was hung over, because ordinarily Emily was very even tempered.
Actually she was usually genuinely cheerful.
Today though he had no doubt that she’d be biting people’s heads off as soon as they were out in the world.
Not that he cared if the team knew that she’d been drinking. Or even that the two of them had gone out together. He just didn’t want it to look like the two of them had been up boozing all night.
Which was . . . he rolled his eyes . . . exactly what they HAD been doing.
But his thought was that if he maintained a little physical distance between himself and Emily, then hopefully nobody would put two and two together.
After shooting Hotch a dirty look, Emily raised her voice slightly, “I am not CRANKY!”
With an amused shake of his head Hotch responded flatly, “the tone and the facial expression pretty much killed any effectiveness the words might have had in making that argument,” he added knowingly, “you’re only being nice to me now because I’m feeding you.”
Yeah, there was no way they were hiding her hangover from the team. She was only being nice right now because he’d brought her coffee and food. In that respect Emily was very much like a man.
The way to her heart was through her stomach.
Slightly chastened, Emily mumbled something unintelligible around her bite of English muffin.
He raised his eyebrow, “what was that?”
After swallowing her food, Emily repeated herself, “I said that’s not the ONLY reason I’m being nice to you.”
In response to her half assed apology, Hotch graced her with a dimple. So she couldn’t help giving him a shy smile back.
Yeah, this is why it was basically impossible to be bitchy with him.
As Hotch grabbed another hash brown, Emily started digging around in the bag for napkins. When she got to the bottom, she pulled out an apple pie and her eyes lit up.
“Ooh! Who’s this for?”
Hotch swallowed his bite, “for you. For the plane. You’ll pass out right after we take off, wake up in two hours, and at that point all of the alcohol will have left your body but you’ll be hungry again. Therefore,” he gestured to the pie in her hand, “I bought you a snack. You can heat it up in the microwave. Just don’t forget to throw it in your bag.”
Emily smiled softly . . . was it any wonder why she fell in love with him? He was perfect just as he was. Even if ‘as he was’ included him being a cranky bastard at four o’clock in the morning.
But, given her little snips at him since he'd arrived at her room, they were probably even on that front. Hell, she was a cranky bastard right now and he was still sitting with her, sharing his breakfast. And as she suddenly pictured the remorse on his face last night . . . and the way he’d tucked her in . . . she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
She gently wiped her lipstick off of his skin with the tips of her fingers as she said softly, “thank you for my snack.”
Hotch just gave her a little smile in return . . . and continued to eat his breakfast.
1. She wanted to be in the BAU to learn from him.
2. He hired her with little knowledge of her profiling skills.
3. She stood up to him when she felt he was being unfair.
4. He didn't hold that against her.
5. She wouldn't spy on him to get him fired.
6. He wouldn't let her leave the BAU.
7. She turned to him for help when her friend died.
8. He not only allowed her to work the case but bent the rules for her.
9. She volunteered for an uncomfortable interview.
10. He comforted and consoled her afterward.
11. She ran from the team to protect them and him.
12. He vowed to destroy anyone who harmed her.
13. They devised a plan to keep her safe from Doyle.
14. The way she looks at him.
15. He's there for her when she's having bad days.
Comments very much appreciated, please! :)
2. He hired her with little knowledge of her profiling skills.
3. She stood up to him when she felt he was being unfair.
4. He didn't hold that against her.
5. She wouldn't spy on him to get him fired.
6. He wouldn't let her leave the BAU.
7. She turned to him for help when her friend died.
8. He not only allowed her to work the case but bent the rules for her.
9. She volunteered for an uncomfortable interview.
10. He comforted and consoled her afterward.
11. She ran from the team to protect them and him.
12. He vowed to destroy anyone who harmed her.
13. They devised a plan to keep her safe from Doyle.
14. The way she looks at him.
15. He's there for her when she's having bad days.
Comments very much appreciated, please! :)