For my dear, dear friend, HGRHfan35. Happy birthday. I love you. Thanks for being such a wonderful friend.

Unbetaed, so please forgive me for any typos.

This story is a work of fiction by an amateur writer and is for entertainment purposes only. The writer is in no way associated with Criminal Minds nor anyone connected to the program. No Copyright infringement is intended and no monetary compensation has been received by the creation of this story.

All publicly recognized characters and storylines are owned by The Mark Gordon Company, Paramount/Viacom, Touchstone Television, CBS Television Studios, ABC Studios, and their related entities.

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"Leaving so soon, madam?" inquired the red-haired young man in the cloakroom.

"Oh, no, I'm not leaving. Just popping outside for some fresh air," replied Emily, smiling as he handed her the coat over the counter.

"That's good. I'm told the second half of the play is even better than the first."

"In that case, I better make sure I'm back to catch it then." She had only taken a couple of steps towards the direction of the main door when she heard her name being called.

"Emily!" Robert strode up to her, a concerned look on his aristocratic face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine. It's a bit stuffy in here, so I just thought I'd go outside for some fresh air." She patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll be back before the intermission is over, I promise."

"Glad to hear that. These tickets cost me an arm and a leg, you know." The fair-haired man said this with a straight face, although his eyes were twinkling. Robert Carlingford-Sands was one of the richest men in Britain, having inherited his father's and grandfather's knack for predicting the turns of the stock market. And if that wasn't enough, he was also the current Earl of Lisle. "Besides, I can't have my date running off on me, that would be entirely too scandalous."

Emily rolled her eyes. "This is 2013, Lisle, not 1813. I'm sure no one would blink an eye if you suddenly became dateless for the night. Some might even welcome it," she said, catching an attractive brunette eyeing her date. If only the woman knew the truth.

"You wound me with your callousness, Emily Prentiss." The earl took a sip of his champagne, raising and eyebrow. "That is a rather lovely coat, by the way. Cashmere?"

"One hundred per cent." Emily drew the soft, cream-coloured material closer to herself, almost sighing at the feel of it against her bare arms and shoulders. "It was half off at Harrods so I don't feel quite so guilty buying it."

"Very nice, indeed. I could almost wish I was that coat." The laughter in his voice made her blink and she laughed aloud, caught in the act of stroking the material over her arms.

"Oh, you flatterer, you." She shook her head at him as she stepped away. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to behave while I'm away, won't you?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" was his laconic reply. Even before she was out of sight, she saw that he was already monopolised in conversation with a group of men whom she knew were his financial cronies. The Royal Opera House was a sure bet when it came to meeting the upper crust and those that came to see and be seen. This she had learnt since she had come to know Robert.

Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cold air, not minding the chill that bit into her exposed face. She closed her eyes, enjoying the quiet peace after the protracted hum of conversation.

"Emily?"

Her eyes flew open and she froze. Surely it couldn't be. Had she just imagined …

"Emily, is that you?"

She whirled around to look for the source of that voice. Her mouth parted in surprise at the sight before her.

"Hotch?"

A faint smile curved his lips. "Hi."

She was struck motionless at the unexpected sight of him. It didn't last long though, because the next thing she knew, she had thrown her arms around him. When he hugged her back a little awkwardly, she felt like smacking her hand to her forehead. What was she thinking? Hotch was not a hugger. In fact, she had barely shook his hand when she had left for London. Oh God. How embarrassing. Anyway, too late now.

She stepped back, trying to look casual. As if she met her ex-supervisors every day on the steps of the Opera House, and then hugged them like a long lost relative. "Hotch, I cannot believe you're here! Why didn't you call me?" Great, anther faux pas in as many minutes. Maybe he didn't want to call her. Ugh, she should just admit defeat and go home now. Any minute now he was going to think she had a crush on him or something.

Which she did. Had, she quickly corrected herself. Who could blame her? They had spent eighteen hours a day in each other's company during cases and everything was so intense. It was just the proximity, she had told herself. The strong, silent and frowning type was not her style. Or maybe it was just her hormones. She had thought that the crush had been crushed though, no pun intended, when she found out about Beth. Apparently, there was still a teeny, tiny vestige of it somewhere in her because she felt her heart skip a beat when she looked up at his dear, familiar face. Oh, for goodness sake, Emily, get a grip!

"I was going to call you first thing tomorrow morning. I just arrived a few hours ago and found out that the opera was an optional part of the tour I joined. I didn't think I would ever attend another opera, so here I am." He looked searchingly at her. "How are you, really?"

The note of concern in his voice warmed her much more that the cashmere she was wearing. "I'm fine. Work is really interesting and my team is more than I could ever hope for. And London," she shrugged, "well, it's London. Life's good." She meant every word.

"But?"

She had to smile. "Reading my micro-expressions again, Hotch?"

He shook his head. "I just know you."

Of course he did. Just as she knew him. "I miss you guys. Still."

"We miss you too."

Her heart clenched at his reply. Calm down, you idiot. He said we, not I.

"We've got Agent Blake now, and she's good, but it's…different." He paused. "So I guess you don't have any plans to return to Washington?"

"Not right now, no." Unless you asked me to, her unruly heart interjected. Right, that was so going to happen. Not. Beth, ask about Beth. Maybe that will yank her sentimental self back into reality. But first, "How's the little fellow?"

Hotch smiled. "Jack's good. Growing up way too fast."

"You're lucky. He's such a great little guy. And Beth?" she asked casually, "How is she?"

His smiled slipped a little. "We didn't work out. But it's all right, it was an amicable split."

Joy, mixed with more than a touch of guilt, filled her. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Hotch." She didn't want him to be unhappy.

It was his turn to shrug. "These things happen. I was more concerned for Jack, but he's surprisingly resilient. He told me not to worry, I wasn't too old to find someone else. Yet." His smile was wry and Emily laughed.

"Well, you never know. You could fall for a nice English lady."

He chuckled. "I don't think I'll have the time. I have to get to know a person first. Maybe I'm old-fashioned that way. I'm probably moving too slow in this time and age."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's kinda nice to be able to have a long courtship."

Their eyes met.

And held.

"Courtship," he murmured. "I like that word."

She didn't know what, but something happened in that moment, changing the atmosphere between them. His eyes softened when they looked down upon her.

"Hotch," she whispered into the expectant silence.

He stepped closer, never breaking his gaze. He raised his hand, stroking his thumb over her cheek. Emily's breath caught in her throat. She could barely believe this was happening. Maybe she was dreaming again.

But then a bell rung in the distance. She wasn't dreaming.

His thumb stopped moving and he started to draw his hand away, but she stopped him, catching his wrist.

"The interlude's over," he said quietly, but made no further move away from her.

Emily slowly moved his hand downwards, still looking up at him. "It doesn't have to be," she replied softly. She tentatively slipped her fingers in between his, holding her breath as she did so.

Hotch drew in a measured breath, his fingers tightening on hers. Her heart raced.

"What about your date?" he asked.

"He's just a friend." At his questioning look, she smiled. "A friend who prefers people of the Y chromosome variety."

Light dawned on his face. "Ah, I see." He was quiet for a moment. "Emily, are you sure?"

She curled her fingers tightly around his hand, feeling the calluses on his palm. Yes, this was where she belonged.

There was no uncertainty in her voice when she replied. "It's always been you. I'm sure."

His throat worked. "In that case, maybe we can have coffee somewhere and talk?"

"I'd like that." She grinned. "That can be Act 1, scene 1."

His mouth twitched. "Hmm… I can't help but wonder what Act 1, scene 2 would contain?"

Emily laughed even as she blushed. "Easy Stanley Kubrick."

Hotch laughed heartily shaking his head as he led her away from the building. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of supper."

"Sure you were," she replied dryly.

"I've heard of pie and mash."

"Pie and mushy peas are better."

"Really?" He sounded doubtful.

"Really. I know just the place."

"If I have two will you still respect me in the morning? I missed dinner."

"That depends on what else you eat tonight," she said airily.

"And you called me Stanley Kubrick."

And so the banter went; over pies and mushy peas, two pints of beer, and warm apple cider, until it came to a stop when lips met in front of the The Savoy where he was staying.

But that's another story for another day.

Please drop me a line and let me know if you enjoyed this little interlude!