Author's Note: I've been toying with the idea of this story for a while, and I guess the full plot-line and dialogue came to me as I was re-watching "100" for the tenth time. Or was it the eleventh...? (: Anyway, I think I like the way that the story unfolds...and hopefully you will too. Feel free to drop me a line. (;

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds. (They won't let me...*pouts*)

Emily and Hotch walked into his apartment, exhausted after their long day. As Hotch turned on the living room lights, threw down his keys and reset his alarm, Emily sighed deeply. He set down his gun on the counter and walked over to her.

"You okay?" he asked her, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking into her chocolate brown eyes.

She shrugged. "I don't know. This case…it's just too much."

He nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean. But it's over."

"For now," Emily added, shaking her head and causing her dark hair to fall into her eyes.

"Yeah. But right now, there's really nothing we can do except relax, and well…wait."

She nodded, not speaking. He brushed her hair away from her face, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "It'll be alright, okay? Come on, I'll pour you a drink."

In the darkness of a neighboring room, movement went unnoticed by both of them. Emily remained by the door, setting aside her gun by Aaron's and pulling off her boots with difficulty. To her shock, a strong arm came from behind her and covered her mouth with a large hand, effectively keeping her quiet. She struggled to escape but he kept her in place. She felt the muzzle of a gun being pressed into her skull.

"What do you want, Emily?" Hotch asked from where he was standing by the small table on which the drinks were placed, his back to her. "Wine, scotch…water?"

She didn't answer. In the silence, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

"Emily?" Hotch asked, turning around to face her.

What he saw made him drop the glass of scotch that he was holding.

A figure wearing all black and a mask that covered his face was holding Emily at gunpoint, his hand over her mouth. A figure that he recognized. It was none other than George Foyet, the Reaper. Their missing unsub.

Hotch instinctively reached for his gun, but his holster was empty. He glanced at the table by Emily and immediately spotted his gun. "Damn it," he thought.

Then he looked at Emily, and his heart clenched. She looked terrified. And she was almost never scared, so that told him just how grave this situation was.

Foyet broke the silence. "Well, Agent Hotchner and Agent Prentiss. Isn't this sort of fraternization banned in the BAU, not to mention, the FBI?" he asked in his deep, gravelly voice.

Hotch ignored him. "Let her go, Foyet."

The Reaper raised an eyebrow and laughed humorlessly. "You're not in the position to be making orders, Agent Hotchner. I have the weapon, and I'm not afraid to shoot her."

Hotch took a step forward. "You wouldn't do that. I know you wouldn't." His attempt at antagonizing fell flat.

"You want me to test out your theory? Because I'm more than willing to," he said, pressing the gun to the base of Emily's skull even harder than he had before, and removing his hand from her mouth so Hotch could hear her cry out in pain.

Slowly, Hotch crept forward. "You're not going to shoot her, Foyet. I know your plan."

"Oh you do, do you?" he asked in a leering manner.

Hotch took another step forward. He was less than ten feet away from them now.

"Stop coming closer! One more move and she DIES!" Foyet yelled angrily.

Hotch obeyed. "You're not going to hurt her because she's not your intended target. You didn't know that she was going to be here tonight. So let her go. Take me."

Emily protested. "No, Aaron, don't -" but the rest of her words were muffled as Foyet placed his hand over her mouth once more.

"You're right. I didn't know that she would be here, but I'm glad that she is. After all, three's a party, is it not?" He paused solely for effect, and the only sound in the room was Emily's labored breathing. "But my intention is to torture you, Agent Hotchner. And instead of going with my initial plan, you've provided me with a much better one. Instead of killing you, why don't I just kill Emily here? Her death would forever remain on your conscience, and it would be an everyday reminder that you should have made the deal. Besides," he added, looking back and forth between the two FBI agents, "You don't have a weapon. You can't protect her." He smirked. "That hurts, right? Knowing that you can't save the one you love…and you do love her, that much is obvious…the pain must feel like a jagged blade twisted in your heart."

Hotch fought to keep a straight face as he watched Foyet take his hand away from Emily's mouth, smooth back the hair sticking to her neck, and whisper in her ear, his lips ghosting against the porcelain skin of her neck, "How does it feel to know that you will die because of him?" Not letting her respond, he turned his attention to Hotch. "You were right. I'm not going to shoot her." He quickly placed his gun away and brandished a knife. "I think this will be more fun, don't you?"

Hotch's mind was racing. He had to stop Foyet before he hurt Emily, but his plan could easily misfire…

He heard Foyet whisper, "Any last words?"

Emily didn't speak. However, Foyet persisted. "Oh come on, I'm sure you want to say something."

After a pause, Emily took a deep breath and said, "Aaron, I love you…"

Foyet smirked, interrupting her. "Hear that, Aaron?" he asked, as Hotch whispered, "I love you so much, Emily…" Foyet continued. "She loves you -" But he was cut off as Emily kicked her foot backwards, hitting him hard in the knee. Hotch rushed forward, grabbing Emily and pulling her away from the Reaper. Her attack only caused Foyet to stumble however, and he came after her, pushing Hotch harshly aside in a murderous frenzy, and plunging the knife deep into her shoulder.

Hearing Emily's loud cry of pain, Hotch charged at Foyet, tackling him to the ground, and used him as an outlet for his anger. But Foyet was just as ruthless, and he flipped them over so he could attack Hotch easier. He screamed, "You're just doing me a favor, Agent Hotchner! After I kill you, I'm going to kill your girlfriend, and there's nothing you can do about it! NOTHING!" His knife came dangerously close to Hotch's face as they both continued to struggle. Meanwhile, Emily, who was disoriented due to the blinding pain of her stab wound, was able to get to the table by the door of the apartment, and grab her gun. She aimed it at Foyet and said, as loudly as she could, "Get off him and put your hands in the air!"

Foyet paused and glared at her, still pinning Hotch to the floor, both of them breathing heavily. "No," he said, and pulled his arm back to deliver the fatal blow, but he was stopped as Emily fired and the bullet went straight into his heart. Foyet collapsed, dead, his knife clattering on to the floor beside him. The loud clap of the gunshot echoed throughout the room. Emily leaned against the wall and sunk to the floor, still holding her gun, and holding her free hand against her quickly bleeding shoulder. Hotch immediately got up, grabbed his cell phone and called 911. After requesting an ambulance, he quickly hung up and ran over to where Emily was sitting. She could barely keep her eyes open.

He pushed the collar of her shirt aside so he could see the wound. His heart dropped; it was so deep, and despite the amount of pressure he applied, the bleeding just wouldn't stop. And it was all his fault.

"I'm so sorry, Emily…" he said quietly, at a loss for words.

She forced her eyes open. When she spoke, it was between ragged breaths. "Aaron…it's not your fault."

"Yes it is! It should have been me…"

Although it took all her strength, she sat up as straight as she could and looked into his eyes. "Don't you ever say that. It's no one's fault but his, and I'm happy that you're not hurt." She sighed. "He hit you so hard…I thought he was going to kill you…" She willed her tears not to spill, but they relented and she cried, her tears staining his shirt.

He looked at her, taking in her condition. The bleeding was still not stopping, her breathing was shallow, and she could barely stay conscious. She was so strong, and although she was severely hurt, she was still caring for and worrying about him.

He was overcome with the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss all her troubles away, but he settled with having her rest her heard against his shoulder in exhaustion. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, his hands still trying to prevent the persistent bleeding. "Where is the ambulance?" he couldn't help but think in worry. "What if she…" But he refused to finish that thought. They would both make it out of this situation. He was sure of it.

Not taking his eyes off her for a minute, he whispered lightly, "Open your eyes, Emily. Please try to stay awake."

She moaned. "It hurts so much…"

He felt horrible knowing that she was in so much pain. He knew that sleep would ease her pain, but he wouldn't let her take the risk of not waking up. "I know sweetheart, but please. The ambulance is coming, just stay strong for a few more minutes…"

She said nothing in reply, just reluctantly kept her eyes open, her gaze eventually coming to rest on the dead body of George Foyet. She shivered involuntarily, and winced in pain as her shoulder came into contact with the wall as result.

Hotch followed her gaze, holding her tighter against him as he felt her shake. He spoke soothingly, "He'll never hurt anyone again. You, me, or anyone else."

She nodded, her mind wandering. The rest of her body was numbed from the pain of her shoulder wound, and she could barely think.

At that moment, they both heard the ambulance arrive, and within seconds the EMTs were entering the apartment and putting Emily on the stretcher as Hotch explained what had happened. As he entered the ambulance and sat by Emily, he took her hand in his and whispered, "We made it, Emily. It's finally over."

She smiled weakly and said, "Finally," as she closed her eyes and the ambulance sped towards the nearest hospital.

Author's Note: So, what do you think? Should I leave it at that, or should I write the hospital scene?