AN: I'm thinking about making this a two-parter just 'cause I'm a sucker for happy endings, but it already seems poignantly solid independently. Thoughts?

Disclaimer: I'd singlehandedly maim the show into a soap if I actually did own it.

It had been entirely unintentional. Yes, she could swear by the look – okay, not look, because he was Hotch and he had one hell of a poker face, but she could tell anyway – on his face that it had hardly been his intention to do what he had done.

Yet he had actually gone and done it anyway, which made her want to rethink everything.

One of the only ways she could ever tell what was going on with him was in his eyes. Whenever she wanted to know what the hell he was thinking, his eyes belied his phlegmatic disposition. Today, his eyes were ablaze with something new. She couldn't tell if it was embarrassment, or denial (hardly, for Aaron Hotchner knew better than to deny what he had just done), or just plain pure lust. Whatever it was, it was evident in his eyes.

What Aaron Hotchner had done was, he had kissed her.

There, she had said it. And you know what? It had been a good kiss. No, not just good, the kiss had been phenomenal. And she had to admit that she had kissed him back, and that the exchange had lasted a long, long time.

But then he had pulled away and his eyes were burning and she didn't know what the heck she – they – had just done, horribly enough.

At least he isn't married any more, she thought. Then she mentally slapped herself. What the hell were you thinking? This is your boss. Fraternisation! Rules! Your boss!

And then she wished she had been hit in the head, drugged, drunk or affected by the case just so she could not blamed for any of her actions.

He had his gaze fixed on her cringing face. "I should… go." She nodded, speechless. Yes, he should. Because if he doesn't, there is no doubt in my mind that something will happen, and if something does happen, then we will both be very, very screwed.

He was at the door now, ushering himself out wordlessly as she gaped at him. She wanted very much to tell him to stay, but she knew if she did, then, well… everything would change. And she wondered if she wanted all that much change right now.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he closed the door behind him. It shut with a faint click and then she was left to hit her head against any solid surface she could find on her way to her booze cabinet. She did so, and then decided against a shot glass, instead opting for the entire bottle of Absolut which she didn't even know she had.

And right then and there, she hated herself, because she had wanted to do it so badly, but as usual, her desire had morphed itself into restraint just as it had been trained so well to do.

Yeah, she was sorry too.

It had been entirely unintentional, but that didn't mean he regretted it. He was slightly overwhelmed by it, sure, but he had finally done what he had wanted to do for an exceedingly long time. He was aware of the rules about fraternisation, but he just couldn't stand sitting next to her on the couch and not being able to hold her any more.

So he had leaned over and kissed her.

Which, he admitted, could have been a disaster. But it wasn't, because she had kissed him back, but then he had realised what kissing Emily Prentiss could lead to, and he had to stop. Because that would have put both of their careers on the line, and he knew that was just about all both of them had.

Following which he had bombarded himself with questions about why in the hell he had just kissed his subordinate, why she had kissed him back, and why she was now averting his gaze and staring gravely at the hardwood. And that was when he knew for sure that kissing her had most probably been a mistake.

It wasn't that he regretted kissing her. It was just that she was who she was and he was who he was, and that didn't make for a great reception of anything. And kissing her again would probably cause something to happen, which would result in the cataclysmic failure of something else, which would inevitably affect both of them. Besides, she was avoiding him, which had to say something about what she felt.

Which was why it was probably best if he just left.

"I have to… go." He managed. He didn't actually want to, but she seemed to show no sign of remorse for his leaving except looking up. And those eyes were just so confused that he knew it would probably be best if he left anyway. She was shrinking away from him.

He stood up. She looked briefly like she had something to say to him, but then she curled her lips into a tight grimace. You knew this was going to happen, he chided himself. Now she hates you, she hates herself, and she has no idea what the heck just happened. And it's all because of you.

Yes, it was probably best that he left.

He took the walk to the door slowly, all the while hoping that she would say something, anything, to show that she wanted him to stay. But he knew she wouldn't, because staying was something that both of them would never be able to take lightly, that needed consideration. And he wasn't giving her enough time, he knew, but that was the way it was.

The door opened without a creak. He hated that he had made her this disoriented. He hated that he had been the one that had done something, and now, because he was leaving, by his own stupidity and volition, whatever they could have been was all down the toilet. "I'm sorry," he murmured, not sure whether it was for her or for himself that he said so.

Oh yes, he was so damn sorry.