Work Text:
Hotch was not one to drink. Whether it was to lead by example as their team leader, or because they were a drunken mess sometimes, she didn't know. On occasion of a wedding, a party at Rossi's, or a celebratory scotch on the plane, but never this many. It took a lot for him to have one beer at the bar, and Emily assumed it was just for the sake of him looking out for them, but one beer turned into four, and suddenly she decided one glass of wine was enough. Soon enough, it was nearing midnight, and Emily was hauling him out of the bar. Derek offered, but she insisted she was fine, and the rest of the team shuffled out in their respective pairs and trios, into their cars. They walked side by side, only inches apart by the shoulders. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, until she looked ahead of her for just a moment, but a moment long enough that she felt a hand snake across her shoulder blades, until it dangled over her shoulder.
“You're really pretty Prentiss… have I ever told you that?” Emily felt a rush of heat fill her cheeks, or maybe that was just the wine. Until he said it again, “Pretty Prentiss, that's what we should call you”.
Oh, he was absolutely plastered. She swallowed a laugh, and forced herself to keep a straight face until they reached her car across the street. “Alright, let's just you in the car, before you lose your mobility”. He nearly fell into the passenger seat, and instinctively, Emily decided to take the seat belt and buckle him in. When she learned across his body, she felt his hand move to her waist. She froze at the touch for a second, and then drew back to meet his eyes. She almost didn't notice his eyes were a softer brown than hers. They were almost always narrow, dark and shadowed. Now, they were half lidded, and bright. He brought the back of his hand up, and gently grazed her cheek.
“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”
Emily froze again, like a deer caught in headlights. She had her fair share of her drunken teammates hitting on her, but it was always playful and harmless. This? This felt more intimate somehow. The first time he said it, she wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he sounded. This time, he was staring into her soul. She'd never felt like someone could see through her… until now.
She awkwardly laughed, and gently took his hand from her face and laid it onto his lap. “Yes, yes you have. Alright, let's get you home."
She made sure he was inside of the car, before shutting his door for him. She crossed around the front and held onto the handle of her own door. Why was she suddenly so flushed? Was it the idea of her boss flirting with her? Or that she was responsible for a man she never saw have more than one beer? “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” The words echoed through her head, and again, she felt warmth spread across her cheeks. This time it was accompanied by a slight flutter in her stomach. She shook her head, opened the car's door, and climbed in.
The drive to Hotch's apartment was relatively quiet. Occasionally he would say something and she would reply with a yes, or a hmm. He would talk about the October weather, or how they ate at this restaurant or that one. He mostly watched out the window, humming at times. Never in her life did she think Aaron Hotchner was one to hum along to the radio. When they reached the building, he seemed to regain some mobility. She held her arms out for him as he climbed out of the seat, to which he protested and waved her off, saying he could walk. She held her arms up in defense and said okay, allowing him to stand up on his own. He's definitely sobering up, she thought. She walked with him to his door, but she wasn't convinced she should just let him there, so she followed in behind him. He sat his keys on the table inside of the door, and Emily turned off the alarm system after shutting the door. The temperature of the apartment was much warmer than the city’s autumn air, so she shrugged off her blazer and hung it on the coat rack behind the door.
“How about some water?”, she offered, but it wasn't an option. She was making her way to the fridge to grab him some.
She searched a few cabinet doors until she found a glass, and filled it with water from a pitcher in the fridge. She returned the pitcher, and walked over to where he was sitting on the couch. Before she could sit the water down, he muttered something under his breath.
“I should've called you beautiful.”
She felt her heart skip a beat. Was he sobering up? There it was again, that rush of heat to her cheeks. She was flushed, and the singular glass of wine wasn't to be blamed.
“W-what?” She asked, sitting the water down in front of him.
“You're not just pretty, Emily, you're beautiful. I hope you know that.”
“Hotch… you um- you had a lot to drink.”
“You know what, I did, and it was enough to give me the courage to say it out loud.”
Unaware of how to even respond, she just shook her head, and laughed, biting her bottom lip after.
“You drive me crazy when you do that.”
He reached his hand out and rested his thumb on her bottom lip. It took everything in Emily to not kiss him right then and there. She had to remember this was Hotch. Oh, but that was the problem… It was Hotch. There were times she felt his gaze on her, and she swore it meant something. She was constantly talking herself out of it because of their positions at work, telling herself it was all in her head. Maybe she wasn't making it all up in her head. Regardless of if his words were genuine, or ruled by his alcohol content, she was not about to take advantage of someone who was drunk. She smiled and gently pushed his hand off of her, again.
“Wow, you've really had one too many tonight.”
“I have not”, he whined in protest.
Emily ordered him to lay down, which he grumpily did. She could get used to this, Hotch taking orders, and from a woman especially. She made her way to the bathroom, searching the medicine cabinet for anything to help with the hangover from hell he would experience tomorrow. When was the last time Hotch had a hangover?, she thought. Unsurprisingly, she found a large bottle of extra strength Tylenol in there. He seemed like a headache guy, especially when the team drove him crazy. She reached for it when she noticed a prescription bottle on the shelf above. She should've assumed it was an antibiotic for Jack when he was sick, but why would the bottle still be in the cabinet? Until she twisted the bottle ever so slightly, and saw the “Aaron” after “Hotchner”. Her eyes gazed above his name to see the name. Peroxetine. She furrowed her brows for only a moment, until her eyes shot wide open. This wasn't just any medication, but antidepressants. Specifically used in severe cases of depression and PTSD. Her heart sank into her stomach after she read the date on the bottle. Haley… It was just days after she passed. Emily picked up the bottle, noticing how full it was, she twisted the cap off. He had taken next to none of these. She put the cap back on and glanced over the label again. All refills were still available. He wasn't taking any of these. She didn't tell anyone, but she went to a few therapy sessions after. Everything about that day haunted her. Hearing the gunshots, arriving at the scene, the sight of Hotch on top of Foyet… she had never seen that side of him. Worst of all, leading the paramedics up to Haley's body, only to find Hotch holding onto her. That day was full of sounds and images she would never forget. She couldn't even try to imagine how Hotch felt. He witnessed the woman he loved, the mother of his child, die right in front of him. At the hands of someone he was felt responsible for. There was nothing he could do. Yet, he probably blamed himself every day, running through the scenarios of what he could've done differently. What he couls have done to save her. She could still Derek pulling him off of Foyet, him breaking down for only seconds before he ripped himself free, and took off after Jack. She felt overwhelmed at the thoughts replaying through her mind. She put the bottle back and quickly closed the cabinet. She rested there, taking a few deep breaths, before dragging herself back out to the living room.
She walked in to find him still laying on the couch, snoring softly. She smiled slightly, but that smile quickly faded after remembering her findings in the bathroom. Emily worried immensely when it came to Hotch. He was the suffer in silence type, which she couldn't be mad about, because as was she, but even she occasionally sat in a therapy session or confided in JJ and Derek about somethings. She knew all too well how hard it was to hold things in, until she opened up to Rossi about her childhood trauma. Some things could only be held in for so long. He would occasionally lose his temper on unsub, but how long would it only consist of that? Emily feared that he might lose more than just his temper one day. She wished so desperately that he was awake, and sober, because this would finally be the time she had him alone and could confront him about how he was doing, really. She had asked a few times about him and Jack, and per usual, he would respond with a simple, “I'm fine”.
She found herself staring for minutes, until she decided she didn't feel comfortable just leaving him there. She walked over and took the throw blanket off of the couch and laid it gently over him. She found herself growing uncomfortable, still in her dress pants from work, and got the bright idea to raid his closet. She smiled when she found his bedroom. It was very Hotch. Basic decor, basic colors. She walked over to his dresser and started opening drawers until she found what she assumed to be sleepwear. She pulled out a pair of plain black jogger sweatpants, and made her way to the bathroom to change.
When she emerged, he was still softly snoring away on the couch. He never slept on the jet, and so this is the first time Emily saw him sleep. He looked so at peace, a mood not often worn by Aaron Hotchner. She browsed his bookshelf, before snagging Catcher in the Rye and settling down on the chair across from him. Hours passed, and she went between watching him and reading, though she caught herself watching him more. It was nearly 3 am when she jolted in the chair. Hotch was still sleeping soundly. She glanced up at the clock. Three hours, she fell asleep for three hours. In Hotch's apartment no less. In Hotch's clothes! After he told her she wasn't just pretty, but beautiful. She felt that blush coming on again, and bit her upper lip. What a night.
Judging by his snoring, and the passing of hours, Emily felt safe enough to leave him on his own. He was laying on his side, and there was no apparent signs he was going to throw up every ounce of alcohol he drank. Still, she moved the waste basket from beside her chair to on the floor in front of him, just in case. She glanced down at her clothes, and realized how much she didn't want to change. He wouldn't mind if I just borrowed these, she thought. Then it crossed her, would he remember any of this? She took a sticky note from his desk, and wrote him a note in case he woke up confused, or thought someone broke in and stole a single pair of sweatpants. She left it on the coffee table beside his Tylenol and water, before she collected her things and slipped quietly out the front door.
Take me & drink me.
P.s. I stole your sweatpants :)
- Emily