Author's Note: Story title inspired by the Florence + the Machine song, "Cosmic Love." Written for the ever so lovely LadyThunderWolf on twitter, who was reviewer #155 for Daddy's Little Girl. Her prompt? I can't make you love me if you don't, you can't make your heart feel somethin' it won't. I can only hope that this story fits that bill well enough, and that you all enjoy it! Thanks again, Debra. :) And have a Happy New Year everyone!

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Heat Wave. They belong to CBS and Richard Castle (ABC), respectively.

"Give me one good reason why I should break up with her, Emily!"

Emily sighed, exasperated as she peered upward at her fuming boss. This again? "Hotch…"

"One reason! That's all I'm asking for," Hotch repeated, his mouth stretched into a tight-lipped frown.

Rising to her feet when he began to turn on her, Emily placed her hands on her hips. "Beth is going to hurt you, Hotch. How can you not see it?"

Hotch snorted mirthlessly. "She's going to hurt me?" he quoted. "You can't know that."

"God, you're so stubborn," she muttered under her breath. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a profiler; I see these things. I can read into people's intentions. Tell me, Hotch; tell me Beth isn't possessive. Tell me she doesn't absolutely hate it when you have to cut short your time with her to leave for a case. Tell me she understands this job."

He ignored her. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a profiler, too."

"You're blinded!" Emily yelled. "You're blinded because you think she's so pretty, and sweet, and funny. Open your eyes, Hotch."

They looked at each other for a long moment. And then: "You're jealous," Hotch said incredulously.

Emily's jaw dropped. "Jealous?" she repeated lowly, her contempt building. "No, Hotch, I'm not jealous. You're my friend; I care for you. I don't want to see you be used and thrown aside and hurt."

"That won't happen," Hotch said confidently.

She shook her head. "Okay," she relented, her voice flat. Grabbing her purse and swinging it over her shoulder, she made her way to the door of his apartment, him following close behind. Her hand on the doorknob, Emily turned to face him once more, her expression neutral. "Just promise me one thing. Promise you won't come to me crying when she breaks up with you."

And at that, she left.

~.~.~

Hearing him panting behind her as he approached her at a run, Emily whirled around and cut him off with an outstretched arm, her eyes narrowing in concentration as he clutched at her shoulder, trying to force her away. She was ready for him, however, and instantly brought one hand up to break his grip at the wrist. With her other, she grabbed his tricep and pulled his back across the front of her body, so he couldn't reach her to land a punch.

Emily grunted loudly as her opponent elbowed her in the ribs, but his attack only spurred her to grab his waist for support, hook his ankle with hers, and drop him on his back.

He came down and hit the matted ground hard. As Emily heard the air whoosh out of his lungs, she scissored a leg over his neck and yanked his wrist toward her. He struggled to rise up…

…but found himself staring into her darkened brown eyes.

"Got you this time," Emily whispered saucily, the makings of a smug smile hinting on her lips.

"You did," he panted, watching as she rolled off him and came to lie beside him on the classic blue mats. "I'm impressed; that was very good form."

Emily smiled, her eyes falling closed at the praise of her combat instructor. "Thanks, Max."

"No problem." He waited for her breathing to even out before he asked, "So…want some company tonight?"

Slowly, Emily sought his gaze. "Not tonight," she said quietly. There was a certain beauty to her relationship with Max; he was the best combat instructor she had ever come across in her time in both the CIA and FBI, he was an all-around great guy, and he was amazing in bed. But she didn't think their friends-with-benefits arrangement would work out for much longer. Not when she had another man on her mind.

Oh, Hotch.

She mustered a small smile when Max helped her into a seating position. "I've just had…a lot on my mind the past few days," she explained unnecessarily.

He nodded, understanding. But still… "I could distract you," he persisted.

Emily smirked. "I don't doubt it." Then she shook her head, her high ponytail swinging back and forth at the motion. "But…this is something I need to think about, not blissfully ignore."

"Is it Hotchner?"

Emily's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "How did you –"

Max cut her off with a laugh. "Emily, we've been friends for how long? I know these things about you. I can see it in your eyes; when you came in today, I could tell your adrenaline level was up. Something happened," he said astutely, leaving the door open for her to explain.

She didn't, however; instead, she simply chuckled in quiet disbelief. "You're sure you're not a profiler?"

"I'm sure." They were standing now, stretching idly and grabbing their things. "But seriously, even if you just want to talk…"

Emily leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Maybe another day, Max."

"Okay." He smiled. "I'll see you next week."

~.~.~

Emily was fixing to top off her day with a couple hours at the bar when she saw him. Him, of all people, sitting in her usual booth in the corner of the wide space and nursing what looked to be a single malt whiskey.

Typical.

She considered backing out and driving to another bar; he hadn't seen her, after all. No one had. She could leave, no questions asked. But looking at him, sitting there all by himself, his mind in some faraway place, Emily knew…she couldn't leave him there alone.

Because if she was honest with herself, yes, she was the tiniest bit jealous of Beth. Who wouldn't be? She had known, from the first day she walked into the BAU, that Aaron Hotchner was a genuine gentleman; one of the few left on the earth. He was a different species of man, and over the couple years, they had grown closer…but not close enough. Emily resented the fact that she had to repress her feelings for him every day…but it was what she had to do.

So, steeling herself with a deep breath that flooded every cell in her body, Emily straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and caught the eye of the bartender, who followed her as she made her way to Hotch's – her – booth.

Hotch didn't realize someone else was approaching him until Emily took a seat in front of him and turned to the bartender. "I'll have a lemon drop martini," she said, glancing at Hotch's glass, "and another single malt whiskey for the gentleman."

With a nod, the bartender was off, leaving them to themselves.

"Emily," Hotch said quietly, almost stunned at her presence.

How was it that the moment he began thinking of her, she appeared?

Their eyes met. "Hey," she greeted simply, her fingers dancing across the tabletop.

"What are you doing here? It's late," he pointed out, dropping his gaze to the bottom of his glass.

"It's only…" Emily glanced at the digital clock flashing on the wall beside them. "Oh. It's already ten. Huh." She ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know, I just got back from combat training and desperately needed a drink." She shrugged, cocking her head to the side and looking at him intently. "You?"

"Long day," he murmured flatly. "I went over to Beth's."

"Oh. That's…nice."

"Not really," Hotch sighed, finally meeting her gaze. "Look, Emily. About yesterday…you were right. I –"

"Don't," she said gently. "Yesterday was yesterday. Just forget everything I said."

"No," he countered, shaking his head. "You were right," he repeated.

Realization finally dawned on her. "She broke up with you?"

Hotch didn't answer, instead taking a healthy drink of his whiskey and letting the liquid fire caress the back of his throat. Rolling in his bottom lip, he traced patterns on the tabletop idly. "Not necessarily," he eventually said vaguely, his brown eyes piercing hers.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she looked back at him. She was trying not to become exasperated, she really was, but again, he didn't answer; he only turned away. This time, it was her turn to sigh. He was closing himself off again, and she absolutely hated it. "Talk to me, Hotch."

"It's nothing."

"Obviously it's something, or you wouldn't be here, drinking away your sorrows," she deadpanned.

"It's nothing."

Finally, Emily snapped. "Hotch, how am I supposed to help you when you won't tell me what's wrong?"

His gaze was hard when it locked on to hers. "You were right about Beth, okay? Go ahead; say 'I told you so'. Maybe I don't need your help," Hotch said brusquely. "What more do you want from me?" he scowled under his breath.

Speechless, Emily slowly rose to her feet and placed a couple bills on the table to cover their drinks. "Maybe you're right," she said. "Maybe you don't need my help."

She was walking away when he caught her wrist. "Wait," he said quietly. "I'm sorry," he sighed, his other hand coming up to run over his face in exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Emily. I take it back. Please…stay."

Torn, Emily kneeled beside him. "Let me in, Aaron," she pleaded after a long stretch of awkward silence, the sound of his given name falling from her lips sending a shock through his heart. "Please. Your walls are up again, and there's nothing I can do when your walls are up."

He nodded, his vision suddenly blurred as he realized he was still holding her wrist. Letting go lightly, he watched as her arm slowly fell to her side as a result. They remained there in silence for a long moment, Hotch sitting and Emily on her knees at his side, before Hotch finally said, in a rather hoarse voice, what had been on his mind the entire night.

"Come home with me."

Emily's shocked gaze snapped up to his. "Hotch…" she said warily.

"Not…like that," Hotch amended, internally rebuking himself. "I just…I really need the company. Your company. I'll explain everything," he promised a beat later. "Please, Emily."

When he looked so broken, how could she say no to him?

~.~.~

Emily woke in a strange room, in a strange bed, under strange sheets. She was blinking back the sunlight from her eyes when she remembered where she was.

There, asleep beside her with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, was none other than Aaron Hotchner.

Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his sleeping form. This, whatever they were doing, was dangerous. Dangerous for her, because it brought emotions that had long been denied to the surface. Dangerous for her, because it gave her a glimpse of the one thing she wanted most in the world…but couldn't have. It would drive her crazy, she knew…but when she tried pulling away from his embrace, he only held onto her tighter.

Dangerous for her, because she loved him…but he didn't love her. She wished he would open up to her, but if he didn't, there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't force him to feel something he didn't.

She couldn't force him to love her if he didn't.

Her eyes suddenly stinging, Emily threw all her cares away and pried open Hotch's fingers, finally managing to worm out of his arms. Taking a moment to fix the side of the bed she had been sleeping on, she eventually slipped out of the room, with not even a single parting glance at the man behind her.

Had she glanced back, she would have noticed that Hotch was very much awake.

Raking her fingers through her mussed hair, Emily smoothed down her sleep-rumpled office clothes. Making her way to the door of his apartment for the second time in three days, she was arranging her things and preparing to leave when she felt the overwhelming presence of another person in the room.

"You don't want to stay for breakfast?"

Emily stiffened, slowly turning to face him. "I don't think that would be wise," she said, trying not to stare as he approached her, his shirt wrinkled and his hair sticking up in every direction and falling over his brow, just begging for her fingers to run through and fix it.

"I still have to explain everything," Hotch pointed out, holding her gaze as he walked her into the kitchen and began to fix up a fresh pot of coffee. "From last night," he elaborated.

Taking a mug from the cupboard and running it under the faucet, Emily worried away at her bottom lip. "Did she break up with you?"

"No."

Emily almost dropped the mug she had been washing. "Oh. Good," she murmured half-heartedly, her eyes falling shut to block out the pain.

Hotch watched her with soft brown eyes, noticing the tension that immediately manifested in her shoulders. "She didn't break up with me. I broke up with her."

This time, Emily really did drop the mug. Luckily, it fell only an inch or two to clatter loudly in the sink. "What?"

"You were right," he said, for what seemed to be the hundredth time. "Everything you said; she hates the job, she hates the hours, and she hates that I spend more time with the team than with her." She hates that I spend more time with you than with her. "She's a kind person, yes…but I feel like I can't breathe when I'm around her. I need a breath of fresh air…and Emily, for me, that's you."

Placing the mug beside the coffee maker, Emily approached him slowly. "What are you saying?" she asked gently.

"Maybe…" he began, keeping with their theme of the previous night, "maybe, all this time I was with Beth, it was because I couldn't have the real brunette I wanted." Hotch was standing a mere feet from her now, his hands itching to hold hers. "Maybe I lied to myself every single day that Beth was good enough, because that brunette didn't feel the same way I did, and I knew I couldn't force her to love me." He hadn't meant to say the last bit, but nonetheless, the words had slipped past his lips.

He held his breath, watching her.

Emily's expression softened. "Maybe you don't have to lie to yourself any longer…because maybe, just maybe, that 'other brunette' feels exactly the same way you do. Maybe…she loves you, too."

Hotch gazed into her eyes, his breath catching in the very back of his truth. Please, God. Let it be true. "Do you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Emily nodded, the makings of a smile coloring her lips.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hotch brought a hand up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. "Emily," he breathed, pulling her close and wrapping her up in his arms. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her ear. "I'm so sorry for yesterday...and the day before." And every day before that, for denying my feelings for you. Pulling back slightly to fully look at her and drink in her simplistic beauty, he asked, almost shyly, "Can…I kiss you?"

Emily's heart a skipped a beat at his sweet question. "Yes," she whispered on a breath.

And then, his lips were on hers, and all else around them faded away.

THE END.

Author's Note: Like it? Love it? Please leave a review; short or long, signed or anonymous, they always make my day. :) Thanks in advance! And have a wonderful, prosperous New Year.