A/N: This story wouldn't exist, if there hadn't been a sleepless night. The next day, I was prepared to delete it, but after some re-reading and editing it here and there I thought better to share than to delete, right? Perhaps I should write in an overtired state more often. ;) Decide for yourself. Spoilers for the finale. Read and review, please.

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds, the characters and the lines / plot I refer to from 7x24 (Run) belong to CBS.

It was about comfort and trust.

When he confronted her with the result of her evaluation to make sure she was all right, really all right, not just on paper.

When she confided in him that she was having a bad day.

It was about friendship.

When she brought him coffee because she knew he had to work late to get the paperwork done.

When he picked her up in the morning and drove her home after work because her car had broken down.

It was about friendship, wasn't it?

When there sometimes was that awkward silence between them on a stakeout, alone in a car.

When a gaze lingered longer than necessary in the field or in the office.

"So, how's it going?" she asked him, and at first, he didn't know what she was talking about. "You know...," she added teasingly, "...dating." They all knew about Beth. She wasn't spilling any secrets.

He didn't know what to respond and just smiled slightly uncomfortably.

"So, what about your plans to buy a house?" he asked her, and she was surprisingly doubtful considering that she contemplated spending a fortune on a new home.

She didn't know what to respond either and just shrugged his question off casually.

In the end, it didn't matter whether there were blurry lines or unspoken questions because, in the end, it was about loss.

Hotch immediately knew something was wrong when he saw her at Rossi's mansion. He remembered the reunion of the team when they had wined and dined together there. Emily had been insecure, eager to fit in again. Yet, she had been happy. Now, the time of readjustment was over, and she was one of them, but she wasn't happy anymore.

Maybe the readjustment never actually had worked out.

She promised him that they would talk about it. First thing on the following day. Just not now.

"It's a date." Those were her exact words. He didn't see her shake her head afterwards due to her choice of phrasing because he already had turned around and walked out.

Nonetheless, the suspicion that something was utterly wrong, the threat of an unwanted upcoming change, wouldn't leave. And on the spur of the moment, he decided to ask her for a dance. In fact, he had to cut in to dance with her. She was busily engaged in dancing with all the men from the team, except him, and even with the women. Obviously, and despite their closeness, friendship, whatever, she assumed that he was the only one who didn't want to dance with her. Perhaps because he had brought Beth along. Perhaps because he was her unit chief. Perhaps just because – even if this reason doesn't really exist among profilers.

Howsoever, she was pleasantly surprised when he took her in his arms, and they started to dance. Initially, they laughed, enjoyed the music. He made a witty remark, and she smiled. Then it all became real.

They danced closely. He hugged her to himself, and she did nothing to keep him at distance. They had been close together before but not like this. Rare, necessary touches – yes. An unexpected, unfamiliar nearness like this – no. Now, he held her, danced with her, just because it felt good. And good did it feel. Too good. He hadn't expected the sensation of being close to her to be such a... sensation.

When the dance was over, and they parted, he couldn't look at her, only mumbled a few polite, albeit meaningless, words.

Later on, when he saw her dancing with Morgan, when he saw them clinging to each other as only friends did who were about to lose each other for good, he knew. She was going to leave.

It was about saying goodbye. Then again, every ending is also a beginning, an unknown tomorrow.

The next morning Emily came to him as she had promised, but the coffee she brought with her did nothing to ease the tension.

"It's a date," she had said the previous evening. Well, it wasn't.

She told him right away. Clyde Easter. Interpol. The London office. A good job offer, very good indeed.

"I thought you hated politics." It was kind of a low blow, but Hotch couldn't help it. Too vivid was the memory how she had told him that. Even after all those years.

"I thought you liked blondes," she retorted dryly, and he had to remind himself that she was referring to his new-found fondness for the brunette he was actually dating and not to herself. She couldn't know what kind of feelings the dance had triggered, could she?

"Sometimes things change," she stated. Yes, apparently, they were about to. The probing question being – in which direction?

On rare occasions, something that started out as friendship changes into something else, something more, ever so slowly and subtly that you almost don't recognize it, let alone are able to label it or get a grip on what it is, what it has the power to become. If you let it. But there is always a turning point. A trigger that causes the inevitable, that pushes the truth to the surface whether you are ready to deal with it or not.

The dance had been their trigger.

"Are you sure you want to take the job offer?" Hotch eventually asked.

"Am I sure? No...," Emily shook her head, "I'm not sure I'm going to accept it. All I know is that I will consider it, have to consider it, seriously. I need a change. I have come to realize that over the last months. First, I thought settling down, buying a house, would be that change. But it isn't. Maybe the new job is. But, to be honest, I don't know that either. People are moving on with their lives. You are moving on. Only I seem to stand still. I have to move forward, too."

She studied him thoughtfully.

"So... Are you sure?" she then asked in return, "About the changes in your life? About where your life is going?"

He was sure about the two things that defined his life – being the unit chief of the BAU and being a father. The rest... He liked dating, meeting someone outside of the BAU. It was easy, uncomplicated. Beth is a nice woman.

But when he had danced with Emily, he had realized that his dates with Beth were missing something. The spark. The moment he had held Emily in his arms, it had been there, so intense, so unavoidable that it had scared him. He wasn't supposed to feel that way for a friend.

Sometimes things change... Sometimes the truth is pushed to the surface whether you are ready to deal with it or not...

In the field, Hotch is quick-acting and decisive. As a private person, he is cautious and appraising. This was happening too fast. He wasn't able to process it right now, to comprehend what it meant and how he had to react to do the right thing. He needed more time.

"I'm...," he tried to reply without letting on too much, "I will miss dancing with you."

It wasn't an answer to her question, but she had to laugh.

"Hotch, we only danced once. I don't think there is much to miss."

Her laughter disappeared when she saw the look on his face. Dark. Thoughtful. Haunting. Telling her that there was a lot more to miss than a dance.

"I need to fly to London to talk to Clyde. I need to do this," she explained and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Emily coughed slightly. Did they really solely talk about the job offer?

He nodded. He understood. It didn't make things easier though.

She studied him again. Longer this time, scrutinizingly. There was something in the way he looked at her ever since they had danced the previous night that was irritating and unhinged her.

"I will have to make up my mind after I talked to Clyde," she said, and it was a test. When she saw the flicker in his eyes, she knew. She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. Yet, she knew.

"Would you mind being the one to discuss it thoroughly with me? I trust your estimation," Emily added and held her breath. Maybe she was wrong anyway. Maybe she had imagined to see something that wasn't there just because she wanted to see it.

Or...

"I'd be glad to," Hotch responded, "although you probably shouldn't trust my estimation in this particular case."

...maybe she simply had seen the truth.

She won't hop on a flight to Europe and will never be seen again. That never was the plan. She will be back. To make up her mind. Whatever this meant. Wherever this will lead to. Sometimes the only way to hold on is letting go.

When Emily briefly nodded to confirm their agreement, Hotch felt the need to add something, to demonstrate that they weren't just talking about job offers and a professional exchange of views. There were new parameters, and no one could predict how they would alter the equation.

"It's a date," he mirrored her words and watched her eyes darken in a thrill of anticipation.

The dance. The trigger. The truth.

Next time it would be a real date.

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