A/N: So, I'm known among some of the Twitter-atti as the "Angst Pimp" because, well, I tend to inject a good heaping dose of angst in my stories. This one is no different. It's a bunch of ideas that has coalesced into one story. One of those little seeds is a role reversal of sorts. I've noticed in fan fics that it's usually Emily offering Hotch comfort when he's in a particularly dark place or low point in his life. What if the roles were reversed? And what if there were consequences in all sorts of ways (you can probably guess one of the consequences, but there are others). And what if a bunch of twists and turns are tossed on them? So here it is, a little angst, maybe a little smut, heavy dash of romance, and a bit of mystery.

Hotch looked down into the troubled, tear-stained face of Emily Prentiss as she slept in his arms. He sighed and pulled her naked body closer to his, reveling in the warmth and scent of her. He wondered if it was possible to be sad and yet so very happy at the same time? It must be as he was feeling those very conflicting feelings right now.

He had just spent the last few hours making love to the beautiful woman in his arms, but he knew it was all an illusion. The feelings were very real on his part. He loved her. He had come to that realization too late and thought she was lost to him forever when she announced her engagement to Dr. Jonathon Russell. But then fate has a way of playing twisted games.

Just when he thought he would lose her forever, Jonathan and Emily became victims of a random act of violence. It was a mugging gone wrong and Jonathan stepped into the path of a bullet meant for Emily. When Hotch had arrived at the hospital, he found her sitting in the waiting room alone, the other people steering clear of the shell shocked woman covered in blood. He was the first to arrive and immediately took care of her and hadn't stopped since.

Through the police's questions, the funeral arrangements, the funeral itself, the condolences from the team and friends, Hotch had stayed by her side, helping her along because Emily Prentiss, one of the strongest, bravest people who had ever known had nearly buckled under the grief. In that hospital waiting room, as she sat there in what used to be a pretty pale blue dress stained now with the blood of a man she had loved deeply, she had looked small and fragile and Hotch swore to himself that no matter what happened, he would always look out and take care of her.

The rest of the team had wanted to help, but as soon as they saw his fierce determination and how easily Emily seemed to accept his assistance, they took a step back, ready to be there, but not intruding, willing to let him do what seemed to be so natural because it appeared to be what Emily needed the most.

He held her as she cried. He dried her tears. He acted as a buffer from the outside world. He helped her pick the suit Jonathon would be buried in. He made she eat, rest and he held her hand during the funeral. And after everyone had left and it was just the two of them, he held her again as she sobbed for the loss of a man who had loved her, never realizing that another man who loved her just as deeply, if not more, as the one they had buried was cradling her in his arms.

So when she looked up, her beautiful face looking even more beautiful through her tears and she kissed him, when she asked him to be with her just for tonight so she could forget, he couldn't resist, even though he knew it wouldn't have the same meaning to her as it did to him. He couldn't deny her anything and he wanted that one experience of making love to her so he could treasure it for the rest of his life.

And treasure it he would. As they moved together, he drawing everything out to give her as much pleasure as possible, to make her numb to her grief as physical sensations overwhelmed her, he realized how perfectly they fit, how this was meant to be. He worshipped her with all that he had and all that he was, loving every inch of her and making her feel his love for her. And when he felt her fall and she called his name, his name, and not the name of his dead rival, he felt a rush of possessive satisfaction and he spilled himself in hot spurts deep inside her body, thrusting into her over and over again as she sobbed "Aaron".

Then he held her as she cried herself to sleep over the lost love she buried that day.

A/N 2: For those reading my other stories, I've got a few days off. Whoo hoo! So the plan is to finish at least two of them, ideally three. Divine Comedy ain't going to be finished this weekend. That is a more epic story. If all goes well, you'll be seeing quite a few updates from me. Thanks for your patience!