She wants to cry.

What the hell was she thinking?

Actually, she knows damn well what she'd been thinking. From the moment she'd started to get ready, to the moment she suggested a trip to the BAU, she'd known what she was doing.

She just hadn't realised how much it would hurt. And God it hurts. It feels like she has a hole in her chest, and every now and then she has to remember to breathe. Gods! What had she done?

She doesn't know why she's staring in the hotel mirror like she has nowhere to be. She's leaving soon, but here she is, she's looking at herself and trying to see the differences they all see. Garcia had told her she'd looked happy and free. JJ had commented on a 'weight' that had lifted from her shoulders. Emily can't say she was consciously aware of being held down. Both Morgan and Reid had told her they were glad to see her smiling and laughing again, not that Emily could remember stopping. When Rossi had welcomed her back - and Emily refuses to fully acknowledge his literal use of the phrase 'welcome back' in the moments before she has to leave - she'd had to bite her tongue. And Blake? Blake had squeezed her hand and murmured something about never being able to really leave. Emily hadn't acknowledged that one either.

And Hotch, well. Hotch just took over her senses. She'd been acutely aware of him from the moment she'd walked into the door of that bar. She'd leaned in to say hi, just to say hi, and now she has a bite mark on her shoulder and finger bruises on her thigh. She thinks maybe she can feel the burn of the mark he'd left on her chest, the one that had sent all her walls crumbling.

She'd been okay on her own, had made herself believe that she didn't need anyone. Then he'd been there, rough and harsh and possessive and everything she'd needed and those beliefs? Well, they'd flown out the fucking window.

Because, she'd been wrong. Oh so very wrong. She not only needs him, but she wants him, too.

. . . .

It doesn't really hit him until he's standing in front of the mirror the next morning tying his tie. It's the red one, the one that's always made him think of her. His eyes flutter closed and he thinks he can smell her, vanilla and Emily. Her taste still lingers on his tongue and he feels the pull of her in his gut. He can feel her too, wrapped around him, hot and wet and wonderful. It rushes back to him, the press of her against him. But it's not right, it's not whole, and his eyes fly open as emptiness settles in his gut. She's not here.

He's not even sure he makes the decision, really. It's not a conscious process. She's not here and it's unacceptable and the feeling all but shoves him down the hallway. His tie is still undone, hanging haphazardly around his neck and he barely has to send Jessica a glance – he wonders if she's always known – before he kisses Jack's head and races out the door.

Because fuck everything else, he needs her.

He has no idea what he's going to say, no idea what he wants to say. He just needs to see her, touch her, tell her everything.

. . . .

She turns from the mirror with a sigh, hoping, maybe even dreaming she doesn't look as terribly depressed as she feels. She doesn't know how to fix this. She's screwed up. She wishes she had a TARDIS or any other time machine she could use to go back a few hours, months, years, decades? She just wishes she had her time with him all over again. Or at least the last 24 hours.

God, what a mess she's made of an already messy, questionable relationship.

It's probably a good thing she made the others promise to let her go the airport on her own. Seeing her like this… well, she just doesn't want to deal with all of that too.

She sighs, takes hold of her carry on, and heads towards the door.

After all, she still has a plane to catch.

. . . .

The drive to the hotel is a blur, just shapes and lights. His mind is elsewhere, focused on her, and just getting there. So much so that he's now standing in front of her door without a plan. What does he do? What does he say? And then the door opens and she's standing there. She blinks at him a moment, obviously surprised. Not that he really blames her.

She's perfect. She's gorgeous. She's looking at him as if he's lost his marbles. He swallows around the lump in his throat. He has to say something because he's watched shock, wonder, confusion, and even fear cross her face. He has to do, say, something to take away this uncertainty.

He opens his mouth, because anything has to be better than silence.

"Stay."

Such a simple word to hold such a complicated feeling, but the minute it rings in the air between them he knows it's not just the only thing he can think to say, it's the only thing he wants to say. It's the only damn thing that matters.

She stares back at him, wide-eyed and shocked, as if this is literally the last thing she could have imagined happening. So he takes a few steps forward, reaches for the hand holding her carry on. He takes the bag from her and uses his free hand to curl hers against his chest, just above his heart. "Stay.''

She has to feel his heartbeat, he thinks, even as she stands there stock still. She looks like she's caught in a dream, like maybe if she does anything else it'll all end. So he waits as patiently as he can because dear God, she's worth it and he will make her see that this is real.

He watches her swallow and finally ask, "Why?"

Now this is something he hadn't expected, something he hadn't anticipated and maybe even why he had never pursued her in the first place. There hadn't been anything out of the ordinary before she'd left. Hell, he'd tried to date someone else, had even been happy with Beth for a time. So he shouldn't be surprised.

He thinks maybe in hindsight he should have given her some kind of clue. Not that their jobs would have allowed it.

"Just… Stay."

He knows it's not enough, not for something permanent, but he doesn't know how else to make her see, how else to tell her. Not yet. Not when she could shatter him right here. He's holding his breath and waiting as she watches him and hoping to God that the thoughts swirling through his head are written all over his face. It's the only way he can try.

And then she's stepping closer, the heat of her so very close. He can feel the way her breath caresses his face, comforting and terrifying at the same time.

"I have to go," she tells him, voice so very soft. "I have a life in London. A job."

He swallows and glances away, thinks maybe it's too late and he's left it too long. But then her hand is fisting in his shirt, pulling him back and making him focus again. Her eyes are dark and deep and wonderful, and a strange tremulous smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"But I can come back."

It's almost a sucker punch. Five words and he knows so very clearly that his happiness is hanging off of every one of them,

And God, she is so much stronger than him because she soldiers on. "I can visit, for a while. While we… While we see what this," she waves her hand between them, "is?".

It's tentative and shy, worried and shaking but God, it's also everything.

"Yes," he breathes, leaning his forehead against hers because he can't think of what else to do. "Emily. Yes."

He watches the smile spread across her face, the way her eyes lose that look of uncertainty and he thinks, she's never looked more beautiful than in this moment. And then she's kissing him, slow and sweet and full of promise.

"Drive me to the airport," she whispers and he tenses automatically at the thought. But she leans into him, her palm against the back of his neck soothing and strong. "The quicker I leave, the quicker I can come back."

He takes a breath and breathes her in, his heart his both breaking and exploding. He's afraid to let her go but he's willing to do anything she asks. He wants her, more than that he needs her. So he takes her hand and she closes the door and they head for the airport. He hopes they can survive this because the dream of her, the dream of them, is now a reality.

...

It takes a while, almost six months. In that time, he's made more trips to this airport than he cares to remember. But this time, it's different. This time, she's coming home to stay. He thought about bringing flowers to celebrate, but it just isn't them. Besides, they would only interfere with putting his arms around her.

He hides his growing impatience with the airline the same way he hides his annoyance with the annual budget meeting he's "invited" to attend, with an impassive face. At least, until he finally sees her coming toward him. He feels his face mirror the smile that's spreading across hers as he watches her make her way down the terminal. He can't help but huff out a laugh.

As they near each other he reaches out and so does she. As soon as their fingers touch, he grabs and pulls and she's up against him. He can smell her, feel her and as he wraps his arms around her he realises this is what he's been waiting for. She falls easily into his embrace, buries her head in his neck and sighs. He knows then, that this, this is home.

As his arms come around her, as she breathes him in, she feels his mouth against her ear.

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

And this time, they both know she believes it.