"Please?" Emily let her head fall into her hand as she waited for her ex to answer her, the phone pressed to her ear. "Aaron please, I just want to see them." She sniffled, running her fingers through her thick hair as she adjusted herself on the couch. She understood in part why he was keeping her from them, but three weeks was too long a time.

"Emily, I don't want them seeing you like this."

The ambassador's daughter glared out the floor to ceiling windows as if she were looking right at the scolding older man. "So what, I'm never allowed to see them again? That's not fair."

Hotch sighed, hearing the tears over the phone. "If I bring them over to you, you cannot be drinking."

"That's fine, I won't."

The Unit Chief gestured to his son to get his shoes on, and he stood up from the couch. "Have you been drinking already today?"

Emily stood straight for the first time during that phone call, straightening her shoulders in defense. "Not a lot," she said quietly, eyeing the bottle sitting on her coffee table. "I promise. And I won't drink anymore today, ok?"

"Emily, I need you to not drink around them."

"I said I won't, ok?" She wanted to see her children more than anything, and if she wasn't allowed to drink then she wouldn't. "So can I see them?"

Getting his jacket from the coat closet, the single man took a moment to answer the woman he loved. How she didn't realize what she was doing was killing their family, he didn't know. "We'll be there in about a half an hour."

She hung up, quickly standing from the couch and making her way over to the kitchen. Her dark eyes drifted over the wine holders were her prized possessions once sat. She had owned over one hundred bottles collected from all over the world, and within one week she had downed each and every one.

It was only over a year ago when her friends and family had tried to convince Emily she had a problem. It had been after a rough case where she picked up a bottle, something she had done a few times before with other team members, but this case made something snap within the experienced profiler. Emily had been taken hostage, like many times before, and was kept for over two weeks. The team wasn't able to get her out without the fear of her three captors blowing up the bunker in which they held her, and she had known her children were missing her.

She had been beaten senselessly, tortured with different devices she still didn't know of to this day, starved and stripped down to sleep naked in the below freezing room.

After finally escaping her situation and spending her first night at the hospital with her husband and children by her side, Emily had slipped out and gotten a bottle of beer. But this time was different than all those other times, the warmth of the beverage falling right to the pit of her stomach and finally having the feeling of comfort come back to her. The alcohol had made her feel better than her husband even did. Maybe it was because he tried to understand her PTSD and made excuses for her to the rest of their friends. He didn't understand her. Alcohol did.

Clearing her throat, the now single mother took the two vodka bottles from the counter and hid them underneath her sink. She quickly rubbed her hands down her face, trying to make sure her skin wasn't sagging and the bags under her eyes weren't as visible, before quickly making her way up to her bedroom.

Blinking heavily to try and rid the blur from her eyes, the ambassador's daughter stripped herself of her shirt and took a clean one from her dresser drawer. She picked up her brush, combing out the ends of her hair to make it look like she at least had taken a shower, and put on two spritzes of presume so they couldn't smell the alcohol on her.

Before she made her way back downstairs Emily stole the small bottle of vodka from her underwear drawer and took a swig before going into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She had barely gotten the rest of the bottles cleared out and her living room floor clean before the doorbell rang, and she was quick to push a few things under her couch before making her way to the door.

"Mommy!"

Emily caught her daughter in her arms, doing her best not to cry into Penelope's hair as she picked her up. "Hey my Shiny Penny," she smiled, pressing kisses to those dark curls.

Hotch watched as their daughter clung to Emily's legs so his ex could pull Jack into a hug.

"God, how big are you?" she laughed, leaning back and swiping back Jack's growing hair.

The sandy haired boy smiled to his mother. "Coach has me in the weight room because I'm the smallest on the wrestling team," he blushed, letting the dark haired woman graze his cheek with her fingers.

Emily tried to smile. "Well I'm definitely coming to your next match." After the statement, the four members of the Hotchner clan let a moment of silence pass between them. For Jack's last two wrestling matches and Penelope's art fair, Emily hadn't been able to go.

She had been blacked out drunk for two of the events, and the third she had gotten so hungover her neighbor came to check on her and driven her to the hospital in fear she wasn't able to hold down any food that day. She had to be observed for over three days, the doctors realizing she had started bleeding from her rectum because of her drinking.

"I bet I'm so heavy you can't pick me up anymore."

The former FBI agent smirked at the remark, quickly turning around and patting her back.

Penelope watched with wide eyes as their mother held herself up as Jack jumped onto her back, and she carried him into the apartment. "Wow!" The six year old ran into the apartment after them and left her father in the doorway, pulling on her mother's pant leg to get her attention. "I want to try!"

Emily put her son down and let the thirteen year old give her a high five. "Maybe in a little bit, ok?" She rolled her shoulders, making sure her smile stayed put as she felt her muscles strain. "What do you guys say about going to the park?" If they were in her house too long they were bound to see the mess and her empty bottles that seemed to find their way into every corner.

"Mommy it's raining," Penelope pouted, looking out the window.

The ambassador's daughter shook her head, looking back out to the streets to see the grey clouds that had been covering the D.C skies letting it pour down. "Ok, what about a trip to the mall? We can have that famous cookie dough ice cream," she grinned.

Jack chewed on the inside of his cheek much like his mother did when she was anxious. "They closed Rollins', mom."

"When was that?"

The thirteen year old shared a small look with his dad who had finally made it into the apartment and shrugged. "Almost a year ago, I think."

Hotch watched as the realization hit the woman who had started treating the few dollar bottles of wine and vodka as her family instead of the children she had given birth to, and he slowly took a step forward. "How about a movie?"

Emily's eyes shot over to the older man. "Yeah," she nodded, "a movie sounds great. Do you want to go out to the theater?" She knew how much their daughter loved those big seats the movie theaters in town had put in.

"Yeah!"

Watching as their kids ran back over to the front door to grab their coats they'd shed, Emily tip toed over to her ex husband. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking to him with her big brown eyes. "Can you drive?"

Hotch stopped himself from clenching his fists at his sides, seeing the sadness hiding behind those brown orbs he'd looked into as he said his vows. "I'll drive," he nodded. Leaning into the younger woman, he lowered his head to hers. "You brush your teeth. Again."

Emily quickly wiped the tears that wanted to leak from her eyes and slowly made her way back up toward her bedroom.

She could hear her kids downstairs, making jokes and laughing with their father, as she unscrewed her hidden bottle for the third time that day.