(I changed things to better fit the current timeline—and I deleted Jordan! I still don't know when I'll finish, but I intend to!)
The knock woke her from a sound sleep--and jerked her out of an erotic dream featuring warm sand and a tall, dark man whose face hadn't been revealed to her. Yet. She had been hoping it would during this dream. She dreamed of him often--and the things he did in those dreams was absolutely wonderful.
Still, nobody knocked on Emily Prentiss's door at three in the morning without damned good reason, so she struggled out of the warm bed and shivered in the cool air of the room. She wasn't happy when she made her way to the front door.
Peering through the peephole, she cursed, using a term more likely to come of Morgan Morgan's mouth than hers and jerked open the door. "Hotch!"
Aaron Hotchner hurt. All over. He hurt so badly that looking at the rumpled woman in front of him was nearly impossible. But he did it, and then promptly fell into her arms. "Close the door, Prentiss, before they find me!"
"Close the door, hell, Hotch--we need to get you to the hospital!" Her eyes were wide, big, and dark, and he almost smiled at the puppy-dog quality of them. Only the worry stopped him.
"Who?" She followed his order, closing and throwing the deadbolts. She returned to his side, helping pull him up and over to the barstool. He clutched the counter to steady himself. "What the hell happened to you? Have you called the police? Dave?"
"Ran off the road, pulled from the vehicle." He gasped out the words as she flittered around him, pulling a first aid kit from beneath her sink, washing her hands, dabbing at the blood. She moved around him so quickly it was making him even more dizzy. He reached out a hand and held her still.
"Where?" She demanded, more frazzled than he'd ever seen her. It reminded him of the last--and only--time he'd been in her home. She'd been nervous of him then, too. But not like this. Then she'd been defensive, ready to fight. Now, she was just concerned, worried. About him. Her hand was gentle as it dabbed at the cut over his eyebrow.
"Three blocks over. Four men."
"Any clue why?" She pulled back to look up at him, chewing on her bottom lip after she spoke. "Did they follow you here?"
"A case, UNSUB with a grudge, from five years ago. Organized crime and connections." Hotch's breath hissed out as she covered the cut with antiseptic and placed a bandage over it.
"Grudge against just you? Any particular reason why?"
"And Morgan, probably Reid and JJ as well. I can't remember if they worked on it, too. They were both here, but I can't remember."
"We need to warn them!" Emily's hand went toward the phone on her counter, but Hotch grabbed her wrist.
"We can't. They specifically said they're watching them. The real target is me, it was my testimony that was the final nail." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she helped him stand. She staggered a bit under his weight and he shifted. He'd never realized how thin and frail she actually was. Her presence on the job, her confidence in her abilities, all made her seem....bigger...than she really was. He filed that away for later consideration.. "If we keep them busy chasing after me, they'll leave them alone."
"You hope." Emily said, grimly. Hotch realized then that he'd made her a target by coming here. He'd have to live with it if something happened to her.. He moved to stand, then. He should leave, keep these bastards as far away from her as he could get them. "But what about Dave and me? Garcia? Do they know about the rest of us?"
"I don't know. But I needed help, and your place was closest. I'm sorry if I've gotten you involved. I'll leave."
"Don't be stupid, or noble, Hotch." She gave him a chiding look, the same one he'd seen her give Morgan and Reid when they'd needed it. "You need help and I'm here. That's what a team does for each other. Let me go change, while you decide what we are going to do. And, do not think of leaving without me--or I'll hunt you down, the rest of the team in tow."
Hotch knew by her tone there was only one appropriate response. "Yes, ma'am."
Aaron Hotchner was asleep in the passenger seat of her Roadster. His dark head rested against her window, and the softest of breaths passed through his lips.
But it wasn't the Hotchner she was used to seeing--this Hotch was dressed in faded jeans she'd found in the back of her closet--leftovers from an ex she'd tossed shortly after moving to the BAU, one of Morgan's football t-shirts she'd borrowed and never returned, and David Rossi's ballcap, that the older profiler had left when he'd been commandeered to help her paint her den. Hotch looked nothing like Hotch, and that was the point. No one who saw this weekend quarterback would tie him to straight-laced, suited, buttoned-down, icy Aaron Hotchner, Esq.
Emily wore jeans as well, a pair so faded they looked fit only for Goodwill. She'd topped it with a brightly colored t-shirt and a black leather jacket.
They looked like any other couple out on a romantic weekend drive. Or so she hoped.
So there she found herself driving up the interstate toward the Canadian border--why that way, she wasn't sure--with her sleeping supervisor behind her.
But she hoped he'd wake up soon to explain to her exactly what they were doing.
Until then, she'd just drive.
There were police officers in the BAU, Morgan saw as soon as he exited the elevator. And they were in Dave's office. Something was up--way up.
Morgan did a quick head count. Reid, present at his desk, Baby-girl and JJ, waiting at the rails--looking at him worriedly, Dave--in long discussion with said officers. Hotch's office--completely dark.
Emily's desk--completely undisturbed. Emily always beat Morgan to work. Always. And Hotch? Well, Morgan half-thought the other man never left the BAU.
He picked up his desk phone and dialed. Home, cell, then home and cell again.
"Supergirl isn't answering, is she?" Garcia asked, sidling closer. He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder in comfort.
"No. Voice mail at the condo, phone turned off for the cell."
"Emily never turns off her cell." Reid said, hanging up his own phone. "And Hotch isn't answering either."
"What are the odds those two are together?" Garcia asked.
"The odds that those two--always the first here--are both late on the same day? The same day we have the locals in the BAU?" Morgan asked, grimly. "Something's not good."
Dave came out then, followed by the two officers. "Everybody, conference room, now!"
The team quickly complied. Dave took one look at them and paled. "Where's Emily?"
"Don't know." Morgan said, hands rising to rest on both Garcia and JJ's shoulders. "What's going down, man? Where's Hotch?"