Hotchniss

The Beginning (Her)

New York had stirred something in Emily Prentiss, but nothing like Foyett is stirring.

"Saint Sebastians," she repeats to herself for about the thousandth time. She's never even heard of Saint Sebastians.

"You fucker," she whispers under her breath. She continues along the small route. It couldn't possibly be that far from Hotch's apartment. Which, she'd never been in before, is no apartment at all. Half his boxes aren't even opened and he still has the standard furniture that comes with an apartment.

"Ha!" There in big white lettering the sign reads SAINT SEBASTIANS EMERGENCY ROOM.

Foyett will not win.
They won't let him.

That's what she thought. It's totally different, you see, once you see the damage inflicted.

"Seven lacerations to upper chest, one that nicked a rib, and two to the lower abdominal region." The doctor drones on and on about damage and internal bleeding but Emily can't tear her eyes away from Hotch.

She's never even seen him seat still before. When he's thinking he scratches at his face or drums his fingers. When he's at his desk he flips his pen around his fingers and here he is. Just still.

"Ma'am? Can I go in?" She knows she's cut the doctor off from her dismal monologue.

"Well.." the doctor glances from Hotch to Emily. "I don't see why not."

Emily walks silently to his side. His side is where she's found herself lately anyways.

She looks him over. Looking for any signs that things are worse than they seem.

The only truly alarming thing is the mask over his pale face. A mask instead of the nasal tubes that are normally used.

She can't bring herself to touch him. It's a child's reasoning. She fears that if she touches, him she'll hurt him. One single tap of the glass and the dam falls.

"You know," she says more to herself than to him. "Garcia should be here. Not me. What can I do?"

Support. That's what she'll do.

"You have a musician's hands, sir." The pads of his hands are rough but especially the pads. "Guitar? You seem like a guitar kinda guy to me."

She passes the time with dull jokes and awkward silence.

"He should be waking up anytime now," a nice looking nurse informs Emily.

Emily simply smiles, she can barely hold back the snap that a nurse had told her just that two hours ago.

She knows her blood pressure has to be through the roof. That's why she feels so protective of the man beside her, not because of unspoken feelings.

"Uh, could you give him some more pain killers? He's in pain." She doesn't need a doctor to tell her that much. He's practically cut into his palms with his nails.

She gets a smile. One single little line of teeth.

"Yeah thanks," Emily whispers with enough sarcasm and hatred to kill a whole army.

She glances back up at Hotch. He's changed alot in the years she's known him. She can't possibly lie by saying he lost his charm, he didn't change that way.

Instead those lines in his face became deeper, even at only about thirty-six. His eyes lost what little spark they once had. He no longer even made small jokes.

He's a new man, and even if she can't admit it know, and she fell for the old him. Now as time goes on she's falling for this half too.

"H-Haley?"

His voice sounds like nothing she's ever heard before.

Her heart leaps to her throat. "Hotch..."

She doesn't have to finish because he falls back into his pained slumber.

She doesn't tell a soul. Not even when the doctor comes in and asks.

She doesn't say a word when Dave eyes her suspiciously. Or when Morgan pulls her aside,
courtesy of Dave's curiosity or worry, and tries to pry it out of her.

She keeps his secret better than she's kept her own.

She's not sure why, honestly, she's so hell bent on keeping it. She just is.