Author's Note: The end! You know, sometimes it seems like stuff takes forever to finish and updates stretch out for years and years, but … that's it :)

Prompt Set #26 (November 2012)

Author: Clayton M. Christensen

Title Challenge: How Will You Measure Your Life?

"Why is it," he said, one time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"

"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you."

― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

*/*/*/*/*/*

*/*/*

"I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice."

- Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

Then Came You

Still holding her beer, Emily walked around and climbed up onto her side of the bed. It took only a second before Hotch put his hand out and she slipped her fingers into his.

Their joined hands fell down into the small gap between them.

For a few minutes they just sat there, holding hands and drinking their Heinekens, but not speaking. And as they sat there in silence, Emily was thinking about the right words to say to have that discussion that needed to be had. And when she thought that she'd finally found them . . . or at least a place to start . . . she opened her mouth.

But then she heard Hotch whisper from beside her.

"Thank you."

Her jaw closed as she turned to look at him . . . his eyes were downcast.

"For what?" She asked in confusion.

His gaze shot up to hers.

"For everything," he continued softly, "helping to pull me up, helping me get undressed, getting my ice, my beer, my snack," he squeezed her hand, "just for being you. You are," his voice started to get husky, "well," his eyes crinkled slightly, "you are wonderful."

Feeling her eyes burning, Emily gave him a watery smile.

"Thank you," then she gave him a questioning look as she squeezed his hand, "do you need anything else?"

His features weren't quite so pinched now, so she was hoping that he wasn't in quite so much pain.

"No," Hotch shook his head, "no, thanks. I'm good. The pills and the liquor are helping quite a bit. But uh, actually," he turned with a slight wince to put his bottle on the nightstand, "I think I might try lying down. Probably better to rest my shoulder that way."

It really was feeling slightly better though. And he was pretty sure a lot of that was the alcohol.

It had definitely taken the edge off.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Emily hurriedly put her own bottle down before turning back to Hotch, "that's a good idea."

And so she helped him shift to lie down, then she fixed his pillow and his ice pack, and pulled the blankets up to his chest. Then she realized that they had too many lamps on . . . hers and his . . . so she reached over him to turn out the light on his nightstand.

When she pulled back to her side of the bed, Emily felt her breasts brushing over Hotch's chest. It was an accident.

Or at least that's what she was telling herself.

Either way she murmured a perfunctory, "sorry," as she moved to huddle under the blankets herself.

"Not a problem," Hotch huffed back with touch of amusement.

And then as they lay there . . . once more in silence . . . Hotch looking up to the ceiling, Emily on her side staring at him, she wanted so badly to move closer. To slip herself under his good arm, and wrap herself around his side.

But she was afraid to.

Afraid that they weren't quite there yet. That she needed to have the talk before she could make a move like that. And thinking about that one point, made her brain start whirring on a lot of others. Chiefly, how different their general interactions had been before they left on this trip.

This trip that had lasted for only three short days.

And then she was wondering if maybe all of the progress that they'd made since they'd been in San Francisco, all of these advances in their physical and emotional intimacy, if they were just . . . her stomach started to churn . . . temporary. Maybe when they got home, Hotch would pull back again.

Maybe he wouldn't want to continue this . . . whatever it was, that they were building.

Maybe he'd just want to go back to his wife.

Her eyes started to water . . . crap. And now that she'd gotten herself good and worked up, she knew that the time had come to poke her nose into something that wouldn't ordinarily be any of her business at all. But today it was.

Or at least she was pretty sure it was.

Hopefully Hotch would agree.

"Um," she started her question to him softly, trying to keep the tears out of her voice, "can I ask you a question?"

For a second after Emily spoke, Hotch was quiet. And then he turned his head slightly, and his gaze snapped over to hers. When he saw that her eyes were glistening, his brow inched up slightly in alarm.

Why was she crying?!

"What is it?" He asked worriedly.

Emily bit her lip . . . and bit the bullet.

"Are you still in love with Haley?"

Hotch blinked in surprise.

"Uhh . . ."

He sucked in a breath . . . and then he stopped trying to speak. And he did that because he was unsure of how to continue.

Her question wasn't one that he was prepared to answer.

Which . . . he realized . . . was kind of ridiculous. Because it was a simple question. And the answer should have been right there on the tip of his tongue.

But it wasn't.

He knew though that if Emily had asked him the same question a week ago, he would have said yes . . . of course. But he would have said that because that was the answer that he'd always given.

"She's my wife, of course I love her."

And though he'd been cognizant over the last few months that perhaps since the separation there had been some "shifting" in the level of his affection for Haley. . . and okay, maybe that started a little before the separation . . . he'd still believed that what he felt for her was love. Again, that was the answer he'd always given.

For a couple of decades now.

But it had admittedly been many years since he'd stopped to really THINK about whether or not that was actually the emotion that he still felt. And now that he was being pressed for a straight answer, the truth of it was . . . he didn't know.

He really didn't.

And for a brief second, his jaw clenched as his eyes fell shut. And when they opened again he looked over to see Emily staring at him. Her eyes were wide, and watery.

She was still waiting for an answer.

And though technically he could have sidestepped, saying that it was too personal a question . . . it would have been a cop out. Because he'd made out with the woman twice that day. They were lying in bed, under the covers, in their underwear. And he had no idea where their night was going. But he did know one thing was true.

She deserved an answer.

"You know," he started slowly, trying to find a truth that he couldn't see, "she used to be my everything. I adored her. But," his voice started to get husky as his eyes went slightly out of focus, "that was, admittedly, a long time ago. And I know that back when she was my everything, I would never," his gaze snapped back to Emily's, "I mean, this, us, I . . ."

When he started to falter, Emily cut him off with a brush of her fingers across his lips.

"It's okay," she said softly, "I know what you mean, and that's why I asked. Because I know you Hotch," the tears in her eyes started to pool as her voice thickened, "and I know how loyal you are, and I know, or," she sniffled and tipped her head, "I should say that I believe, that if you really were still in love with Haley, that we wouldn't be lying here right now. And that you wouldn't look at me the way that you do."

Hotch's eyes widened.

"And how's that?" He whispered.

And her face crumpled.

"Like I mattered!"

Though she tried, Emily couldn't stop the sob that bubbled up with her answer. And as with earlier in the night when she started to lose it, her hand immediately came up to cover her mouth.

God, why couldn't she keep it together!?

And then she remembered . . . three days of constant stress and sleep deprivation. Yeah . . . she thought bitterly . . . that'll do it.

She was lucky she had any emotional control left at all.

"Oh, Emily," Hotch winced in sympathy at her tears as he reached out to snag the fingers of her free hand, "of course you matter. I care about you very much. Come on over here," he gave a tug on her hand, "come see me."

Still crying . . . if this conversation continued to go down this route, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop . . . Emily moved to close the few inches between them. And even though she saw him wincing in pain as he did it, Hotch shifted onto his side and pulled her into his arms.

And feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers, Emily was flooded with a confusing mix of emotions.

Sadness and longing chief among them.

But she also knew that this wasn't necessarily an opportunity that she'd have again. So she tucked herself close, clenching Hotch's t-shirt in her fingertips as she buried her face in the curve of his neck.

The tears didn't stop though.

And after a moment that seemed to stretch out forever, she heard Hotch take a breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered while slowly rubbing his hand down her back, "I'm so sorry. Please don't cry. This is all my fault. It's just," his words started to get husky, "you get me turned upside down, and then I forget which way is up."

Hearing the emotion bleeding into Hotch's voice, another tear slid down Emily's cheek. They were drying on his t-shirt.

"Am I making things more difficult for you?" She asked with a sniffle.

For a second Hotch was silent. It was another impossible question . . . but another impossible question where she deserved the truth. So he took another ragged breath, and nodded slowly.

"Yes, yes you are."

Feeling Emily's body tense up, he hastened to explain before she pulled away.

But please know that I don't mean that in a negative way." He bit down on his lip. "It's just that there are moments with you, and they seem to be coming with more frequency, where I feel like my old self again. And then I can start to see another path," his jaw twisted, "to see that there might be other ways to get my life back . . . other ways to be happy. But I don't know if . . ." he paused to take a breath, "well, I've been married for such a long time." He shook his head, "I don't know how I would start over."

"But Aaron," Emily lifted her head, "don't you see?" She sniffled, "you've already started over. You have an apartment and a routine and," her lips twisted in sympathy, "visitation. You started over a LONG time ago." Then she paused for a moment before adding softly . . . almost like it would hurt less that way.

"You know it's been almost a year since she left."

"I know," he nodded slowly, as tears pricked his eyes, "I know."

And he left it at that. And seeing Hotch's eyes watering, Emily gave him a moment. But once he'd taken another half breath, and blinked the moisture away, she pulled one of her hands off his chest, and reached up to touch his cheek.

Time to throw the rest of her cards on the table.

"I know that you're still trying to figure things out," she whispered hoarsely, "I understand that. And most of those things have nothing to do with me. But still I wanted to . . . well . . ."

She paused for a second to slowly exhale. And seeing him watching her closely, her mouth curved in a sad smile.

"What I'm trying to say is . . . I like you. A lot. You're very sweet," her lips pursed together, "and you make me feel safe, and you make me laugh," her voice started to get thick, "and I just think you're a really great guy. So," she sucked in a ragged breath, "um, maybe once you figure out the rest of it, maybe you might want to think about that too. Think about me. You know," her teeth sunk into her lip as she looked up at him, "if you want."

There, she got it out. And saying it out loud was exhilarating and scary and she basically was about ready to throw up. But then she noticed that Hotch's eyes were starting to glisten. And then he smiled. It wasn't a happy smile . . . it wasn't even a sad one.

It was just kind of wistful.

It made her heart hurt.

"Thank you for telling me that," Hotch whispered as he tipped his head down to kiss Emily's forehead, "and that is definitely something that I will think about. And I wish that I could say more now, but I really do need to figure out the rest of it first. But please know," he pressed his lips to her ear, "that you are very important to me. And looking back," he rubbed his hand along her arm, "your support these last few months has been invaluable. You gave me some good memories, over some really dark days." He pulled back, giving her a faint smile as he pressed a light kiss to her lips.

"And thank you for that too."

When he broke the kiss, Emily stared up at him for a moment, and then her mouth curved in a sad smile, and she tucked her head under his chin.

"You've given me some really good memories this year too," she whispered against his throat, and his eyes started to water.

Because that exact point . . . Emily's presence in his life, that is . . . had been a recurrent thought on his mind ever since the fall. It wasn't that his life 'flashed before his eyes' or anything, but during the time when he was hanging there off the girder, waiting for them to get the rope and pull him back up to safety, he'd had some definite time to think. And if ever there was ever a moment where you were really going to THINK about your life, it was when you're dangling off the side of bridge. And his first thought was of course of Jack . . . that he wanted to see his son grow up. That he wanted to be a good father for him.

Better than his own had been.

And thinking about that, and thinking about how depressed and bitter he was becoming from the separation and Haley's refusal to reconcile, he came to see . . . he was failing his son. Because allowing himself to get sucked down into that sludge, it wasn't being a good dad. That wasn't good for anyone.

And then he heard Emily call his name.

She started talking to him. Yelling down through the fog. Telling him that he'd be fine, that they'd have him up in a minute . . . no worries.

No worries.

That's what she said. And her voice was calm and comforting when she said it. And he knew her, and he knew that she was FAR from calm herself, but still she was trying to make things easier for him. And he was reminded then so CLEARLY . . . like a lightning bolt . . . that he now really did have this other woman was in his life.

And make no mistake, he thought once again as he pulled Emily to his chest, she was most definitely becoming a 'woman in his life.'

One who was kind and supportive, and he thought as he cuddled her close, feeling her soft breath on his throat . . . sweet.

And yet he still wanted to go back to the other woman.

The one that had taken his son and walked out the door. The one who was treating him like shit. The one that he'd been fighting with for almost two years straight. Since long before the separation.

Why was that?

Really, what was the point in reconciling?

It was stopped being about the family unit, that was for sure. Because their marital differences certainly hadn't been resolved. His job was still his job and Haley had refused to even try counseling so there was no elixir on the horizon there.

Plus Jack was older now.

So even if he and Haley were . . . by some MIRACLE at this point . . . to somehow decide to live under the same roof again, there would be no way to hide their mutual animosity from their son.

It would hurt him.

So again, what was the point? Why was he still trying to mend a relationship that had become so toxic? It was another question he truly didn't know the answer to.

Christ.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion washing over him . . . probably even more mental than physical, which was saying something given the night he had . . . Hotch winced as he shifted slightly on the bed. Then he pulled Emily a little closer and tipped his head down to rest against hers. Her tears had just about stopped.

He could hear her sniffling in the semi-dark.

And though he hated that she'd been crying . . . and that it was his fault . . . it was still really nice holding her that way. That was yet another thing that he used to do with Haley. But at the stage they were now . . . civil only for conversations in front of Jack, otherwise openly hostile . . . he really couldn't imagine ever doing that with her again. The idea was somewhat laughable really. He huffed to himself.

Yeah, at this point his wife wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole.

Seriously, what the FUCK was he doing with his life?

That was another question that he didn't know how to answer. But what he did know . . . he bit back a yawn . . . was that he wasn't going to figure any of this shit out that night. He'd just have to deal with it when he got home.

Like everything else.

So after he'd given Emily a good night kiss, and a half dimple just so she'd smile again . . . she did, it was a little one, but it still counted . . . he settled back on his pillow and closed his eyes. His shoulder was again notably aching . . . probably from all the moving around . . . but the pain was tolerable.

And then he felt Emily shift a little closer and wind her bare legs through his.

The skin on her legs was soft and smooth. And again, he could feel her warm breath on his throat, and her body pressed tightly against his. And once again, that other path . . . the one that he might take with this woman and not the other . . . was visible to him in his mind.

But was that truly the right road for him to even consider? Or was he supposed to find a way to rebuild his marriage in order to make a stable home for his son?

For a few minutes he tried so hard to weigh the pros and cons of both worlds and just make a decision about which reality to pursue.

But he couldn't.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do.

So he took a slow breath and patted Emily's hip. Then he sighed.

Again, he'd just have to figure it out when he got home.

Early the next morning, Emily shimmied her way out of Hotch's arms and quietly rolled out of bed. She pulled on a pair of jeans, and Hotch's FBI windbreaker. Once the latter was buttoned all the way up, it was puffy enough that she didn't have to worry about the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Then she yanked on her sneakers, jammed her gun into her waistband, grabbed the key card off the nightstand and slipped out of the room.

When she returned fifteen minutes later . . . after once more stripping off all of her outer layers . . . she climbed back into bed. And when Hotch woke up thirty minutes after that, he found her still curled up at his side. Though when he turned his head to check the time, he found a black sling sitting on the nightstand next to the alarm clock. It was why Emily had gotten up early.

She'd bought it for his arm.

So he'd keep it still.

He thanked her with a kiss. It went on for just a little bit too long . . . but not nearly long enough. Because when they finally broke it off, both of them panting, and her half-straddling his waist, there were tears in both of their eyes.

Because they knew . . . they'd gone as far as they could go.

At least for a while.

And so they got up, and Emily got him another dose of pills, though that time with a bottle of cranberry juice rather than a bottle of whiskey.

Again she split it with him.

And then they went about getting ready for the day ahead. But there wasn't much for them to do. By noon it was confirmed that the remaining Kingsley Boys were in custody. And it had also been confirmed conclusively (through both forensics and a boisterous confession from James Lee Houston) that Diana Jane Milner's death and dismemberment had been a part of their rampage. She'd been his neighbor . . . and she'd been with him in the elevator when he'd dropped his bag and the broken heart valentines had spilled out on the floor of the car.

Those were the valentines that had been scattered around the homes of the missing women.

And he'd been afraid that she might eventually put two and two together. So poor Diana, she was just collateral damage.

So with the cases wrapped, that night, the whole team, everyone . . . flew home.

And once they got back to their routine at the office, Emily noticed that Hotch was definitely keeping more to himself than he had been before they left. Not that things were strained between, not at all, it was just that he was . . . quiet. Though occasionally she'd find him staring at her for no reason, but when she looked up at him . . . he'd always look away.

And then she'd bite down on her lip and go back to whatever she was doing. This was the process.

He was still figuring things out.

A few days went by . . . and then a few more. And then a week.

And then another.

By the second week, Hotch had stopped wearing his sling. And then on the twelfth day after their return from the deadliest case of their new year, he came to work without his wedding ring.

And though Emily initially felt a burst of happiness at that development . . . the competition was gone . . . it was short lived. Because still he said nothing to her. Not that day.

And not the next.

He was still avoiding her.

And with each subsequent day that passed, she felt a tiny knot growing now in her stomach. Because apparently he'd finished figuring things out. He didn't want Haley.

But he didn't want her either.

At least it appeared that way. And that hurt . . . it hurt a lot. And she would have at least that he would talk to her about it. But he hadn't. And that hurt too. And though she wouldn't have previously thought that a man that you'd never even actually dated, could put you through this kind of turmoil, she'd been wrong.

Dead wrong.

That night she cried into her pillow.

But then the next evening . . . seventeen days after they flew home, it was a Tuesday . . . Emily was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, trying to read a book that she couldn't concentrate on, when she heard a knock on the door. A glance at the time on her cable box showed that it was a little after nine.

Not really too late for visitors, but still kind of an unusual time for a pop in.

But when she went to the door, and leaned up to look through the peep hole, her eyes widened in surprise.

Hotch . . . still in his suit.

Oh.

Whoa.

For a second she froze, and then her eyes dropped down to take in her own outfit. Pink fuzzy pajamas with little silver handcuffs on them. And . . . her hand came up to touch her cheek . . . no makeup. She'd washed it off when she got ready for bed. She bit back a sigh.

Perfect.

Not that she knew exactly why he was knocking on her door . . . maybe it was to give the official 'thanks but no thanks' speech . . . but if it was for the OPPOSITE reason . . . she pouted . . . it would have been nice if she hadn't looked like a giant frump.

But unfortunately she had no time to change or pretty up. So having to settle for just yanking out her messy ponytail, and a quick pinch of each cheek . . . trying to get a little color in there . . . she shook out her hair, sucked in a nervous breath, turned the deadbolt . . . and yanked the door open.

"Hey there," she tried to give him a genuine smile, though her stomach was in knots, "what's up?"

"Hi," Hotch's eyes were wide as his gaze shifted from Emily's pretty face to take in her fuzzy outfit . . . and then her bare feet and the light pink polish on her toes.

His eyes snapped back up to hers.

"Sorry, I know it's a little late but could I come in for a couple minutes?"

"Of course," she stepped back and gestured for him to come inside, "please."

Oh God, please don't be here to rip my heart out, she thought as he walked passed her. Then she closed the door, and flipped the deadbolt again before she looked up at him standing next to her.

He was really close.

"Do you want a drink?" She asked, trying to sound cool and collected as she started walking him down the hall towards the living room.

"No," he shook his head, "no, thank you. Actually could we," he put his hand on her arm, "stop for a second?"

Feeling her stomach turn, she froze. God, he didn't even to sit down. So this was it, the brush off.

She slowly turned around, her hands now clenching into sweaty fists.

Though they were at least behind her back.

"If you're here to tell me that you're not interested," she said softly, her gaze locked on the middle button of his dress shirt, "it's really okay. I inferred that already, so we don't have to um," she cleared her throat, "talk about it."

"Oh, no," Hotch's brow darkened, "that's not, I, uh, that's not why I'm here at all."

Okay, a bit of an unmanly stammer there, but once more, the woman had completely thrown his composure.

Emily's eyes snapped up to Hotch's.

"It's not?" She asked hopefully.

"No, I uh," Hotch took a breath, "I came to tell you that I signed the divorce papers three days ago."

"Oh," Emily's eyes widened as she bit down on her lip. And though she wasn't actually 'feeling' the emotion, she said what polite society dictated that she was supposed to say.

"I'm sorry."

But he just shook his head.

"I'm not. Quite the opposite. I've actually been thinking a lot since we came home from California, and I realized that you were right. Things had been over for a long time. Really, uh," he swallowed, "they were over long before she left. I just," he sighed, "I hadn't accepted it because I didn't want to accept it. Because if I did, then that would have meant that I needed to get on with my life and for reasons I won't get into right now, suffice it to say, I wasn't ready to do that. But," he bit his lip, "I think I am ready now."

Emily's breath caught.

"Oh . . .?"

"Yeah, I, uh," he swallowed, "well after what happened, you know," he motioned between the two of them, "between us, that helped me to get it in gear. And I know it's been a couple of weeks since we got home, and," he tipped his head down apologetically, "I realize that maybe I should have talked to you before, but I was trying to work out the details with the custody arrangement so I could get the papers finalized. I got that wrapped up today."

And once again, all Emily could think to say was, "oh." And she was most definitely starting to feel like a complete idiot, but she seriously didn't know what else to say. Hotch hadn't stated the EXACT reason for his visit yet, so she was still completely out of sorts on what was happening. Yes, she was seeing a bright shimmer of light in the tunnel, but she hadn't yet completely determined the source of that light.

And she was just terrified of getting squashed by a locomotive.

Seeing that Emily was still hunched in a defensive posture, Hotch realized that he was making her nervous. But of course he hadn't yet made his intentions clear. So he tentatively reached out to touch her arm.

"So now that the papers are signed," he continued softly, "I was wondering if you were still interested in, well, me? I mean," he stammered a bit, "you know, would you like to go out on a date? Or," he tipped his head, "Twenty?"

God, this was the first time he'd asked out a woman in two decades . . . it was just as awkward as he remembered it.

Feeling a burst of elation (and amusement) at the 'cool as ice' Aaron Hotchner's less than suave approach at asking her if she'd like to start seeing each other . . . God, he was adorable when he was nervous . . . Emily's anxiety was blown away in an instant as she shot him a brilliant smile.

"Yes," she exclaimed in relief, her hands clenching behind her back as she bounced on her toes, "yes, I'd like to do twenty, please!"

"Yeah?" Hotch's eyes widened as he repeated in surprise, "really?"

"Of course really," she chuckled as she took a step and leaned in to wrap her arms around his waist. "I wouldn't say yes as a joke, silly," she murmured against his chest. "And besides," she tipped her head back with a little smile, "it was kind of my idea, remember?"

God, and she'd been SO convinced that he'd decided that he wanted nothing more to do with her!

She'd never been so happy to be so wrong!

Though she was slightly thrown for a second by the lack of reciprocal hugging from Hotch. But then she realized that it was clearly taking a moment for him to process what was happening . . . he was just staring down at her . . . but then suddenly it seemed to click. His eyes brightened as he shot her a wide, two dimpled, grin.

"Excellent," he nodded, "that is very, very excellent." Then he tipped his head down and his arms came up, and he pulled her to his chest.

"Thank you for saying yes," he whispered into her ear before adding with a faint huff, "I was really concerned that this wasn't going to go well."

She chuckled.

"Yeah, you and me both, pal. It's been a long couple of weeks. So, do you want to stay for a bit?" she asked hopefully, "I could make coffee, or," she gave him a soft smile, "we could just sit and talk."

In this instance 'talk' could mean, exchanging words in a conversational manner, or it could be a euphemism for all of the fun stuff that they had been doing off and on, the last month or so, that she very much wanted to do with him again. There was SO many perks to dating a gorgeous man.

Random Tuesday night make outs would most definitely be one of them.

"Oh," Hotch's nose wrinkled, "that sounds nice, and I'd like to stay but I actually have to get some work done. You know the quarter's ending and I have to have our Q2 budget finalized for a meeting at ten tomorrow. But," he patted her back, "how about dinner Thursday?"

"Yeah," she nodded happily, "Thursday's good." Then her brow wrinkled. "But wait, should I dress up? Are we doing fancy dinner? Or just burgers on the way home from work? I'm good with just burgers," she quickly added with a smile, "you know I'm a sucker for a good quarter pounder."

Hotch's mouth quivered slightly . . . he did know she was a sucker for a good quarter pounder . . . but then his jaw twisted as he actually thought about the question.

"Uh," he tipped his head, "let's do the fancy dinner. I'll make reservations, and we'll go somewhere nice," his eyes crinkled slightly, "okay?"

Given that this was his first 'date' in twenty years, he should do it right.

"Yeah," she grinned, "very okay."

For a second Hotch stared down at her, trying to think if he was forgetting anything. No, he didn't think so. His focus for tonight was limited.

Get her to agree to start dating him . . . get her to agree to go out to dinner with him. In that order.

Check . . . and check.

So his hand slipped down from her back.

"Okay," he let her go with a pat to the hip, "I should get going so I can finish up those numbers."

And he started walking slowly backwards towards the door. But then another thought came to him and he paused as his brow wrinkled.

"Just so you know going into this thing," he added apologetically, "I haven't done this in a long time. You know," he gave her a look, "dating that is." He rolled his eyes slightly, "honestly, I don't even remember if I know how to do it right."

"Well," Emily snorted, "I only know how to have bad dates, so," her lip quirked up, "you're one up on me." And then her expression sobered a bit as she reached out to lightly pat his chest. "Seriously Hotch, we'll just figure it out as we go. I mean," she shrugged, "we've never had a relationship like anybody else's so," she rolled her eyes, "why should we start now?"

Hotch huffed.

"That's a good point." Then he nodded, "so okay," he turned to open the door, "well," he looked back over his shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye." She responded with little smile and a wave.

And he started to walk out. But then at the last minute, he turned back, leaned down . . . and before she could blink . . . he was kissing her.

This kiss wasn't as 'wanton' as some of their previous ones, but still . . . it was a good one. Really, it was her favorite one yet. Because this one was to set their new path. He wasn't on 'loan' anymore. He was hers now.

For real.

And when he finally broke away, he whispered breathlessly against her lips.

"I really like your pajamas."

She started to giggle.

"Thanks," she sucked in a ragged breath as she pulled back, and rubbed her hand down her thigh, "they're actually one of my favorites."

"Well," his eyes crinkled, "they are definitely you." Then he stepped out into the hall and whispered with a wink, "good night Prentiss."

And her mouth began to quiver.

Uber romantic kiss good night . . . still calls her Prentiss.

Yep . . . she started to laugh as she shoved him back and shut the door in his face . . . this was going to be fun!

A/N 2: Done! This is leading into a sequel. And I'm doing it because I realized as this one was rolling along that I've never actually written a 'normal' dating relationship for them before. At least not in the Girl'verse. They've gone from friends to more, and they've had major precipitating events that pull them together, but they've never just realized, 'hey we're attracted to each other, maybe we should have dinner and see where it goes.' Which is, I'm fairly certain, how the majority of people get together. So I thought it would be interesting to see Girl'verse HP realize that they do have this spark and decide to try a relationship based on that alone. Also the idea of bringing them together back when he still just called her Prentiss almost exclusively, (and they really haven't hung out much outside the office), seemed like, as Emily said, it would be fun.

Which brings me to the title of the sequel (which I really love), "The Courtship of Clark and Lois" :) I just thought that tied in a basic staple of the Girl'verse overall, with a lighter (mostly) date based get together. And allowing Hotch to get to this place mentally/emotionally before he'd signed his divorce papers in Girl canon; it had to be an AU where he has some major 'event' happen to make him take stock of what he was doing with his life. I felt that falling off the Golden Gate Bridge qualified :)

Thanks everyone for following along on another ride! Without you all, it's just me spitting this stuff into the wind :) And the new story will be going up sometime this month probably. I know I shouldn't start it yet, that I should just focus on the other stuff first, but we all know that just won't happen :)