Hotchniss One-Shots

After The Fall

The house was too quiet.

Hotch stood by the window, hands curled around a half-empty glass of whiskey he hadn't really tasted. The living room still carried the scent of the people who had been there earlier, colleagues and old friends murmuring condolences before slipping away into the night. Now, there was only silence.

And Emily.

She hadn't left with the others. He wasn't sure if she'd meant to stay or if she just couldn't bring herself to walk out the door yet. Either way, she was still here, lingering in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, watching him with something that looked too much like understanding.

"Hotch," she said softly.

He didn't answer right away. He just swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the way the amber liquid caught the dim light. He should tell her to go. Should tell her he was fine. Should thank her for staying and let her off the hook.

But he didn't.

Instead, he exhaled slowly and said, "I don't know how to do this."

Emily stepped closer. "You don't have to figure it all out tonight."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Jack went to sleep asking when his mom was coming home. How do I tell him—how do I make him understand that she never is?" His voice cracked at the end, and for the first time all day, Hotch let himself unravel, just a little.

Emily reached out, her hand settling on his arm. It was grounding, steady. She didn't try to offer empty reassurances, didn't try to fix the unfixable. She was just there.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted. "I wish I did."

He turned then, looking at her, really looking at her for the first time all night. Her dark eyes held his, quiet and unflinching. Emily had always been good at this, knowing when to push and when to just... exist beside someone in their worst moments.

Maybe that was why, when she moved her hand from his arm to his shoulder, he found himself leaning into it.

Maybe that was why, when she whispered, "You're not alone," he believed her.

And maybe that was why, when he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, she didn't pull away.

He kissed her.

It was slow, hesitant. A moment of grief spilling over into something neither of them had expected. And then—Emily kissed him back.

She didn't mean to. It wasn't planned. It wasn't even rational. But for a few fragile seconds, it was real.

And then—

She pulled away.

"Hotch..." she started, but the words stuck in her throat. His expression was unreadable, raw and aching in a way that made her chest feel too tight.

"I—I shouldn't have done that," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair.

Emily swallowed. "It's... it's okay."

But it wasn't.

Not really.

She stepped back, putting space between them, and he let her.

"Get some rest," she said quietly, and before he could respond, she turned and walked out the door.

Emily wasn't sure how she ended up at JJ's house.

It was late, well past midnight, and she wasn't even sure JJ would be awake. But she needed—something.

Closure? Clarity? She wasn't sure.

When JJ opened the door, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a loose cardigan, Emily winced.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I shouldn't have—"

JJ shook her head, stepping aside. "No, it's okay. Come in."

Emily hesitated, then sighed and walked inside.

The living room was dimly lit, a baby monitor on the coffee table humming softly with Henry's even breathing.

JJ gestured for her to sit, then curled up beside her on the couch. "What's wrong?"

Emily stared at her hands. "I—" She hesitated, then finally admitted, "Hotch kissed me."

JJ blinked. "Oh."

Emily let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Oh."

JJ leaned forward slightly. "Did you... want him to?"

Emily bit her lip. "I don't know. Maybe? I kissed him back."

JJ studied her for a moment. "And now you're here."

Emily groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. "I don't know what I'm doing, JJ. He's grieving, and I don't want to be some—some escape or mistake or—" She exhaled sharply. "I just don't know."

JJ reached out, squeezing her hand. "You're overthinking."

Emily snorted. "That's kind of my specialty."

JJ smiled, but it was knowing, gentle. "Look, I can't tell you what this means for him, or for you. But I do know that Hotch doesn't do anything lightly. If he kissed you, it wasn't just some meaningless impulse."

Emily swallowed. "But what if it was?"

JJ didn't answer right away. Instead, she gave Emily's hand one last squeeze before standing.

"Stay here," she said.

Emily frowned. "Where are you—?"

"Calling Garcia."

Emily groaned, flopping back against the couch. "Oh my god."

JJ grinned. "You need a second opinion."

A few minutes later, Penelope arrived, wrapped in a pink fluffy robe with her glasses perched on her nose.

JJ handed her a cup of tea.

Emily sighed. "Do we really have to—"

Penelope waved a hand. "Oh, sweetheart, you can't just drop Hotch kissed me and not expect a full intervention."

Emily buried her face in her hands.

JJ smirked. "So. Thoughts?"

Penelope sipped her tea dramatically. "Honestly? He's grieving. You're you. The man is not made of stone."

Emily groaned. "Not helping."

Penelope softened. "Okay, fine. Real talk? You need to ask yourself what you want. Not what you think Hotch needs, not what you're afraid of. You."

Emily hesitated.

JJ nudged her. "If you kissed him back, a part of you wanted it."

Emily sighed, tilting her head back against the couch. "I don't know what I want."

Penelope patted her knee. "Then maybe don't rush to figure it out tonight."

JJ nodded. "You don't have to have all the answers right now."

Emily exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Yeah. Okay."

Penelope smiled. "In the meantime, chocolate?"

JJ held up a bar she'd pulled from the kitchen.

Emily huffed a small laugh. "You guys are the best."

JJ grinned. "We know."

And for the first time that night, Emily let herself breathe.

Maybe she didn't have all the answers.

But at least, she wasn't alone in trying to find them.