Where the Heart Is

Chapter 3

"...Ian Doyle is dead, Prentiss," Hotch said after an intense staring battle that lasted at least a full minute.

Emily rolled her eyes as though it was the stupidest thing that she had ever heard in her life. "Yeah. I wish." She turned to walk out of the bathroom, and Hotch followed her.

"Prentiss, I was there. I saw him die with my own eyes! There's no way he could've survived a bullet to the head -"

Turning around sharply to face him, Emily snapped, "Yeah, kind of like there's no way I could've survived a table leg to the stomach? It's not even that unusual to survive a head shot! Stranger things have happened, Hotch -"

"A stomach wound is different than a head wound, Prentiss. How could he possibly have survived that?"

"He has a metal plate in his head."

Hotch stared at her for a moment to ensure that she wasn't joking. When it became clear that she wasn't, Hotch cleared his throat, and hesitantly said, "Prentiss... Are you okay?"

A look of horror crossed her face as she realized what he was implying. "I'm not crazy, Hotch!" she declared angrily, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Well... Sorry for asking, but... You do realize how irrational this sounds?" he asked, a lump forming in his throat as he realized how incredibly awkward the whole situation was. Why had he invited her to spend the night?

She sighed, defeated, and sunk into his couch, pinching the bridge of her nose between her pointer finger and her thumb. "Yeah, I realize how irrational it sounds. But it's the truth! He had a brain injury when he was a kid, they put it in to make sure his skull didn't crack again or something. I swear to God, that's what he told me. I just didn't remember it until... well, until he was in my bedroom."

"Prentiss," he said gently, sitting down beside her, "...Emily," he amended, "Are you sure it was him? Positive?"

She let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "Yes, Hotch. I'm sure. I did work undercover with the man for an entire three years, I think I'd know."

"And you're sure it was him?"

She looked at him and then back down at her bare feet, and whispered, "Trust me. If I could forget his face when he... when he was... If I could forget it, I would." She stared at her toes for a few more minutes, her gaze distant as though she wasn't actually present in the room, but was reliving what Doyle had done to her during their last encounter. She shuddered, and Hotch tentatively put an arm around her shoulders.

She looked up at him in surprise, and then quickly bowed her head back down, not wanting him to see her tears. Prentisses were not supposed to cry. Ever.

"Emily," he said gently, pulling her into another awkward sideways hug - made even more awkward when he remembered he was still dressed in nothing more than a bathrobe - "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Well, yes. Actually... I don't know."

Hotch let his arm fall from her shoulders, and they sat together in silence for a few minutes, before he said softly, "I'm sorry to leave you like this, but I have to take Jack to church. Do you want to come with us?"

"No," she said immediately. "No, I, um, I told my landlord that I'd be at the apartment at eight. I have to pack up my things and, um, maybe shower here before I head out?"

"That's fine," said Hotch. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Emily smiled at him, obviously still upset, and said, "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Hotch. I really appreciate that."

"It's no problem," Hotch said, flashing her one of his dimpled smiles. She felt her lips involuntarily curve upward when he smiled at her: it was so rare an occasion, and she couldn't help but smile back at him.

Thirty minutes later, Hotch, Emily, Jack and Sergio were all ready to leave the house.

"Hotch?" Emily asked, just as Hotch was getting into the driver's seat of his car to leave.

"Yeah, Prentiss?" he asked, pausing with his hand on the door.

"I would appreciate it if... we could keep the whole, you know... Doyle thing... If we could keep it between us?"

He nodded. "Of course."

She smiled at him, genuinely this time. "Thanks."

"I'll see you tonight at Rossi's, right?" he questioned, making sure that she would still want to be around after her confession that morning.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," she said.

Hotch closed the car door and drove away, and he felt a twinge of sadness when he glanced into the rear view mirror to see Prentiss's slouched-over, depressed form disappearing in the distance.

What is this? he asked himself, frowning slightly. Sympathy, the rational part of his brain decided. Yes. You feel sorry for her, because she's in a bad situation. That's all. If it were any other member of the team, you'd feel the same way.

But there was another part of him, perhaps a smaller, quieter part, but a part nonetheless, that was laughing at him for thinking it was just plain sympathy. Face it, that part of his brain was saying, You have feelings for Emily Prentiss.

Feelings for Prentiss? he thought, wrinkling his brow. No. Can't be.

And yet... Those feelings were definitely there.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts away as he pulled into the parking lot of the church. Just ignore those feelings, the rational part of his brain said. A relationship with Prentiss would be too complicated, and it would break the FBI fraternization rules. They could both lose their jobs. It wasn't worth it.

But he knew that this particular internal argument was far from over.