The Donor

Chapter Two

The Secrecy

The worst part about keeping their relationship a secret is the job. Mostly, it's the way she has to pretend he's the biggest asshole on the planet. Especially, when he's being a sweetheart. Like when he surprises her by having lunch and flowers dropped off at the office. He's a good boyfriend, a total sweetheart, but she never gets to gush about how sweet he is. 

Instead, she has to play defense.

Rolling her eyes when Garcia lightens the mood by joking Hotch might have left it. Of course, the first time the blond had suggested it might Hotch her throat attempted to close in on itself. Until Garcia backtracked and made it very clear she did not, in fact, think it could be Hotch.

Then, after ordering her lunch-- her favorite special from her favorite cafes-- and leaving a cute note Hotch has to come out of his office and pretend to be annoyed with her. 

They have to pretend to hate one another and it can be taxing.

"Hotch," she whispers into the small space separating them. She'd been awoken by his deep voice mumbling and turned to find him fighting off whatever terror was trying to steal what little sleep he is currently getting.  She hates to be the barer of bad news but he can't sleep with her, not tonight. 

She cards her hand through his hair, hoping to soothe him before he wakes up in a cold sweat and gasping for breath. "Aaron," she calls softly, other hand moving across his bare back. She found for a man so guarded and stoic,  it's odd to see that he sleeps on his stomach with his back to the open air. Until he informed her he'd never slept on his stomach not until he started sleeping with her. 

She felt struck by that news. By very definition, Hotch is a very guarded man. He hasn't opened up to her, not completely, but to trust her so much that he's changed the way he sleeps is... Well, it's the strangest way she's ever been told that someone loves her. 

And, as compromise, she had told him that she can't sleep if he's not there.

Which is why Aaron Hotchner had come knocking at her hotel's door so late last night.

How is he supposed to sleep knowing she can't?

The hotel bed is much too small for two of them, especially when one of them is a 6'2, broad shouldered giant. There's no one else she'd rather share her bed with but their time together has to come to an end. 

He has to sneak back to his own bed.

"Baby," she shakes his naked shoulder, smiling at the sleeping moan he lets out upon her jostling. "Aaron," she tries again, a little louder this time. His eyes blink open and he scowls at her, too foggy to function. "You have to leave before my mom finds us," she jokes softly, leaning in to kiss him.

Sleep is still etched into his frown but he offers her remarks a soft groan before lifting his upper body up and wrapping his arms around her. She's trapped under the weight of his torso while he presses his face into her shoulder.

She places her hand on his head, gently scratching at his scalp. She rolls her eyes but turns her head to press a kiss to the side of his head. "You're just a big softie," she whispers, giving the man in her arms a soft squeeze. 

Hotch 'humphs', just let her try and tell anyone that. They'd never believe her. A small part of him, though, the part being nurtured by Emily's own soft tendency, almost wishes he could be softer. He pushes the thought away. The team doesn't need a burden they need a leader. 

There's no time for being soft. That gets people killed.

He lifts himself up off of Emily, feeling the room's cold air hit his naked body with a shiver. He looks at her from under lidded eyes and despite the three hours he's slept he's still got two black eyes. It makes her heart hurt knowing that he's depriving himself of sleep just for her. She reaches out to touch him, to get her fill of him while he is here. While she can have him before he puts his trousers back on and becomes Hotch.

And she loves Hotch. She really does but there a moments-- his shoulders squaring as he shifts his weight to kick in a door or setting a scowl before storming head first into a building-- she wishes they could just be Aaron and Emily.

She wants Aaron who curls up with his head in her lap. Aaron who sleeps on his stomach in nothing but boxers. Aaron who wakes up with bed-head and will use every excuse in the book to get her to take a shower with him.

But they can't. They're Emily/Aaron or Prentiss/Hotch.

And, right now, they have to hang Emily and Aaron up so that they don't get hurt.

"It's freezing..." he's exhausted and vulnerable as he shivers in nothing but his dress socks and boxer briefs. They're past the point of being awkward around one another's half-dressed bodies. The arms he's wrapped around his pale naked torso aren't to hide the scars marring his flesh.

She rolls her eyes and stands up out of the bed. He can be a bit of drama queen. "Come on you big baby," she takes his hand and pulls him with her.

He's mid yawn when she throws his shirt at his head. "Hey," he grumbles but complies and puts it on. Trying to put his pants on nearly sends him sprawling out on his ass-- which is not an attractive look.

"Easy," she mocks, lightly. Clothed, minus the dress shirt she has draped over her arm, she has to send him off to own room and hope he sleeps. As he steps back to move towards the door she grabs his hand. It's warm and calloused, rough. "Aaron..." she wants to tell him that she loves him but they haven't come that far yet. 

Neither have taken that step.

He leans down and kisses her, a soft kiss that is full of the yearning and guilt that she fills for sending him off. 

"You know," he whispers, "you're the first girl I've ever snuck around for."

She rolls her eyes. He's a drama queen and a hopeless romantic. Dear Lord, if David Rossi ever finds out about any of this he's going to be the talk of the town. "How romantic," she snarks, cupping his jaw for one last kiss before she unlocks the door behind him. "I'll see you in the morning, Agent."

The light from the hotel's hall illuminates his features. Tall, dark, and handsome... damn, she really hates to send him off. 

"In the morning," he repeats before stepping out. "Make sure you--"

"--lock the door," she finishes with a smile. "I know."

He nods and offers her an awkward wave as he steps down the hall, headed in the direction of his own room.

Unbeknownst the two them, they weren't the only ones going bump in the night. Rossi woke up with a bad case of insomnia, unable to go back to sleep with his head whirring so steadily, he decided to go out on a stroll around the hotel. Serial Killer or not-- he's a Italian, it knows better. 

He'd been standing at the end of the hall when he heard a door open. Silently, he'd watched as Aaron Hotchner, sworn enemy of Emily Prentiss, stepped out of said agents hotel room. Now, a thousand things could be happening... if Emily was any other agent.

Dave watches his old prodigy head back to his own room, his dress shirt over his arm and his clothes wrinkled-- almost slept in. "Mmm," he mumbles with a shake of his head. He unlocks his own hotel room. "I'm on to you, Emily Prentiss." Even if he's not sure what he's seen, he knows he can't write it off.

Sneaky little devils.

I love Hotchniss but I also love soft Hotch. The man needs a hug and some sleep.