TICKET TO HEAVEN

"I put my heart and soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process."—Vincent Van Gogh

I've done it again, I've started another book length story featuring Hotch and Prentiss. This one is a bit different. I love writing Hotch-thoughts, so this will be entirely from his perspective. He is so wonderfully complex, and often misunderstood, and I love playing around in his mind. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

DISCLAIMER

THESE STORIES ARE JUST ME GOOFING AROUND. I AM NOT AFFILIATED WITH CBS OR CRIMINAL MINDS OR ANYTHING ELSE.

I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS NOR WILL I PROFIT FROM THESE FANFICTIONS. THIS ONE WILL FOCUS ON A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN EMILY PRENTISS AND AARON HOTCHNER SO IF THAT'S NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA—THIS ISN'T A FIC YOU WANT TO READ.

THIS IS RATED MATURE…THIS IS CRIMINAL MINDS AFTER ALL…

PLEASE ENJOY!

Chapter One: Profiling Practice, Profiling Prentiss

"At different states in our lives, the signs of love may vary: dependence, attraction, contentment, worry, loyalty, grief, but at the heart, the source is always the same. Human beings have the rare capacity to connect with each other, against all odds."

Prentiss smelled nice, Hotch thought, as she walked past him into the conference room. She'd changed her lotion or something. She didn't wear perfume—it sometimes interfered with their sense of smell at a crime scene.

He tried to identify it, just absently, while he waited for the rest of the team to join them for a briefing. It wasn't lilac, he decided, as he moved to a chair next to hers. He always sat next to her, and it was now something he did almost unthinkingly. It may have been that by sitting next to Prentiss, it made it easier for him to see the faces of the rest of the team. Something that had been invaluable when he'd been having trouble hearing. And she was the one he'd least needed to see—he always knew what she was thinking during a case without having to see her eyes, or her face. Plus, she had a habit of writing down quick little notes as the others spoke, notes that had helped him keep up with the conversation flowing around him. It had been one of his little tricks to keep the team from knowing just how badly the explosion had affected him. And it worked. He got through it.

The scent wasn't lavender, either, he decided as she moved her files around on the table, placing them exactly an inch from the edge. Definitely floral, no fruity undertones. Garcia—she was more likely to wear fruity. JJ, occasionally. But not Prentiss. She was more the floral type. Too…sophisticated for fruity. He'd bet she'd have more sophisticated, more upscale tastes than either of the two blonds. Probably liked fancy dining, fine wines, and the opera.

Or something slightly obscure, he amended, like off-beat theater. He'd heard her and Reid discussing off-the-wall literature, so probably something…artistic…or avant garde.

Hotch used to love the theater. Years ago. He'd watch Hayley in her admittedly amateur productions. Then they'd often go to plays whenever they could. That stopped about five months after he joined the BAU. Just no time, and then he'd not wanted to make the plans—and then risk having to cancel a the last minute.

He wondered if she, Prentiss, liked to pick apart the characters profiles afterward like he always had. She probably did. Hayley had always hated when he'd do that, said it ruined the story analyzing motivations. But it was what made the theater enjoyable for him. But that was a long time ago.

But he'd bet Emily Prentiss did exactly that.

Reid came in, his legs almost moving faster than the rest of his body. He always looked so awkward. The boy smiled openly at Prentiss, before taking the chair beside her and moving it even closer.

"I read the book you mentioned," Her voice was husky, and Hotch could swear he heard a wave of affection directed at the genius. He absently ran through the things that happened to the two since Prentiss had joined the team. Little brother—that's what her manner said to Hotch. That was good. For both of them and for the team as a whole.

Dave came in, whistling. Hotch often wondered how the man did it, came across so…unfazed..by all he'd seen. And he had seen a lot. Or was it just a false front?

Dave patted Reid on the shoulder, nodded at Hotch. Stepped up behind Prentiss and squeezed her shoulders, the move just a bit past professional, in Hotch's opinion. His eyes narrowed on the pair.

"Thank you again, Emily." Dave said, smiling down at her. He shocked Hotch by dropping a kiss on her dark hair. She just laughed, apparently easily comfortable with the action, with Dave. She swatted him over her shoulder. Hotch just watched.

"That good, huh, Dave?" She infused her voice with just a touch of sexy undertone that had Hotch's eyes narrowing even more. He shifted in his seat.

"The best. I am eternally grateful." As Dave spoke, Hotch realized something he hadn't noticed before. Dave was attracted to her. Seriously attracted to her. But to her…Dave was just a friend. And Dave understood that. Even accepted it. But there was still a touch of longing in the older man's eyes when he looked at her. When she wasn't looking. Hotch made a mental note of the potential problem that presented.

JJ wandered in, looking soft and beautiful. She took the seat on Hotch's immediate left, then leaned in front of him, immediately seeking Prentiss's attention. Baby pictures were soon pulled from JJ's pockets and then Prentiss was leaning in front of Hotch.

It really was a nice scent, he decided. They spoke around him as if he wasn't even there. It disconcerted him, and he briefly wondered why. Her hair, brushing against his chin as she returned the snapshots to JJ, distracted him from his thoughts. It was soft, he realized, as he brushed it from his face. She hastily apologized—half-heartedly, inattentively—before slipping back into her own personal space.

Her hair was softer than he remembered Hayley's ever being. It smelled clean, no chemicals used on her hair, he determined. Natural. That told him she was comfortable with herself physically. No body dysmorphic tendencies for Agent Prentiss. He liked that, in a woman. It was an attractive quality.

She returned the final portrait of baby Henry, her arm brushing against his hand as she did so, just a casual touch. She fumbled the portrait, the tiniest bit of her characteristic clumsiness slipping through. She reminded him a bit of Reid in that. He attributed it to the two smartest members of his team getting so lost in their heads at times that they forget their surroundings.

His hand turned over, instinctively capturing hers to keep the photo from falling.

Her skin was softer than her hair; the realization puzzled him. He'd never thought of SSA Prentiss as having soft, incredibly feminine skin before. Never thought of her—unlike both JJ and Garcia—as even really being feminine, being a woman.

She was always just Agent Prentiss, and one hell of agent, at that. One of the team, a casual work-friend, someone he trusted on the job, but gave little thought to outside of the office. A serious mind that he could depend on to come up with the answer sometimes out of thin air. Much like Reid. He'd always equated Prentiss with intelligence. Ever since she'd read so freely from an Arabic transcript her first case with the team. Always just a part of the team, and one hell of a profiler. The best female profiler he'd ever seen.

She pulled her hand back as the last profiler of the team entered. She never looked at Hotch. He wondered why. Was that normal? He didn't think it was. If it was, had he ever noticed that before? It bore consideration.

Morgan looked at her first and never looked away. Hotch had to admit that of all of the team, Prentiss and Morgan's relationship puzzled him the most. They were like a long and happily married couple. They knew each other's strengths, weaknesses, wants, and needs. They rarely even needed words to communicate. Morgan was protective and understanding, while she was accepting and supportive. They had one of the better partnerships he'd seen in the Bureau. Not just the BAU. It was why he often paired them together.

"Em, you so owe me." Morgan said, moving behind her and rattling her seat.

"How so?" Hotch heard the sudden wicked humor underlying her tone. It was a tone he'd only heard her direct at Morgan—or Reid. It spoke of sibling-like affection, teasing, trust, and respect. He'd heard her use it with that Jon Cooley, too, though there had been a slightly different undertone Hotch hadn't been able to put his finger on, in the little time he'd seen her and Cooley interacting.

"That little weasel, Perkins—" Morgan explained. Hotch recognized the name, the man from White Collar two floors down.

"Oh, God. What about him, now?" She shook her head as she spoke, sending more of the new scent Hotch's way. It was driving him nuts, trying to figure out what it was.

"Sniffing around your desk again." Morgan added, then snickered. "Looking for you…"

"What did you say to him?" Her fingers began to drum against the table. They were narrow fingers. Small, he saw. Her whole body was somewhat narrow, he realized for the first time. She seemed so much…bigger…when working. When in reality…she was barely taller than Hayley. He ran a quick eye down her frame. She was curvier than his ex-wife. Even after Hayley had given birth, she'd not had curves. Prentiss curved…nicely…attractively...he decided, as she continued talking. "It took me months to shake him the last time you encouraged him."

Hotch mentally reviewed what he knew of the man. Perfect politician material. And Perkins knew it, played it up, used it to his advantage. He was missing only one thing to secure a seat in the next election—a perfect political wife. And he was apparently interested in Prentiss?

Prentiss, who grew up in the world of politics, who had countless connections, who spoke multiple languages. Who was intelligent, smart, engaging, beautiful. Yes, Hotch could understand Perkins' focusing on Prentiss.

But Prentiss hated politics.

"Don't worry. I told him you were already seeing someone. That he took you to the theater just last night." Morgan shook her chair once more and laughed. Laughed harder when Dave sputtered.

"Thanks, Morgan, I think." Dave said, and Hotch glanced at him, checking closely for how the older man felt. "But I believe it was she who took me."

She did like the theater? And she took Dave? Dave, who hated the theater. Why? He had an inkling why Dave would go with her. Probably couldn't force himself not to. This could be a big issue. He'd watch them closely.

Hotch didn't have a real problem with fraternization, like he'd told Kevin Lynch, as long as it didn't interfere with Bureau business. But Dave and Prentiss were on the same immediate team.

And Dave's relationships had caused problems in the past. He'd hate to see either of them leave the BAU.

She laughed, a light, happy sound, that almost reminded him of Jack when he was completely happy. Hotch liked the sound. "He complained so loudly when I tried to profile the protagonist. I probably should have dragged Reid along instead. Next time I will."

"Ah, but dinner more than made up for any discomfort." Dave said, "Made by your own two little hands. I felt so special."

"You should. I don't cook for just anybody, you know. What—JJ and Garcia twice, Reid twice, Morgan three times—just because he came around begging. And now you. Thank you again, Dave, for agreeing to spend a torturous evening with me at the…theater. My date," She shot a meaningful glare at Morgan as he took his chair next to JJ's, "Cancelled last minute. And I would have hated to waste the tickets."

"Anytime, my dear." Dave said. Hotch wondered if how the older man felt was clear for everyone else to see, or just him because he knew Dave so well? And she'd cooked for him? Did she realize how that would fill a man like Dave with a sense of longing for what he wanted, but didn't have?

She'd never cooked for him. He wondered how she'd look in a domestic situation. He'd seen her kitchen, he remembered. But he couldn't really picture her working in that kitchen. She probably could cook, he doubted there was much the woman wasn't at least basically proficient at, but he couldn't see her wasting her free time cooking for just one person.

And she rarely ate enough to justify cooking for one person, he'd seen that while on cases. Hotch had grown intimately aware of how trying cooking for one could be. He ate out a lot. He bet she did, as well. Reiterated the loneliness. But was Prentiss lonely? From the way the team talked, they all did things together all the time—or at least with her. He'd never seen her in a capacity without the team. He wondered why their relationship wasn't like hers and the rest of the team. Was it him?

Garcia flitted in, hands cradling her laptop preciously. She was one of those who demanded attention immediately upon entering a room. Hotch loved that about her. But her attention went past Morgan, JJ, Reid, even him, and settled on Prentiss without hesitation. "Em, chickie, you and I so need to talk."

"As soon as the briefing is over." Prentiss said, her tone hinting at a secret, hinting that she already knew what the younger woman needed.

Hotch knew it was almost time for the briefing to begin, but he waited, knowing Garcia would need to get hooked up before it would be entirely effective. As he moved his chair slightly, preparing to stand, he pondered one thing:

Every last member of the team had sought her out. Everyone of them looked at her as the center of the team. Everyone of them saw her first, and she was the one to welcome each and everyone of them in an individual and special way.

Everyone but him. He'd not spoken to her, and she'd not spoken to him. But then again, the two of them rarely ever spoke about inane things, especially first thing in the morning. The profiler in him wondered why.