Blood will tell, but often it tells too much.

-Don Marquis

The problem, she thought sourly, is that I'm too good at it.

Another sleepless night was in store, and she knew it was due to her incredible ability to compartmentalize. The dark circles would be easy enough to hide (she'd learned the art of concealer application within her first week at the BAU); her mental exhaustion, not so much. Late night TV only made her restless, she couldn't focus enough to read, and paperwork was out of the question. The first few times she had tried to put on some Sigur Rós and lull herself back to sleep, but she found herself picking out cadences and subtle layers to the music that she hadn't noticed before, more wide awake than ever. Now she didn't even bother, refusing to resort to narcotics.

The truth was that she was terrified of what she would see. Sometimes it was a single faded figure in a nightgown that just brushed the floor, pointing an accusing finger at her, and then melting into the shadows with a single scream. On especially bad nights, she saw her team lined up against a wall, as if waiting for the firing squad. It was the blank canvas, and a cloaked, masked figure acted as the grotesque artist, splattering the pristine surface with blood, sticky blood. So much blood…

But the absolute worst was the one she dreamed only after the most horrific cases; the one where each of their personal demons came to hunt them down. They were all there in the bullpen, even Hotch, laughing at something. She laughed and laughed and found that she couldn't stop. Something is coming, something is coming, but I must keep laughing, I must…And then the door would swing open, a line of unsubs filing in like neat, orderly schoolchildren. Evil was the teacher.

Henkel stopped before Reid, taunting with needle in hand, before plunging it into the doctor's arm and crumpling him to the floor like a rag doll. She knew it was not the drug, it was something far more sinister, but somehow she could not will her limbs to move…And yes, here were the dogs for JJ, one of Henry's toys clamped between the largest dog's teeth. A screech escaped JJ's lips, and then she was merely a pile of limbs, another victim…She saw Morgan, Rossi, and Garcia die, until only Hotch and herself remained.

The Reaper, George Foyet, was the last to enter. He stopped before Hotch, and she was running, running to save him, but it was not fast enough, it would never be fast enough…Foyet cut him down with one shot, and then she was at Hotch's side, crying, screaming at him to come back, come back. Her hands were covered with his blood…so much blood. She turned to Foyet, who still stood above her, knife raised, poised to strike. Please, she whispered. Please do it. Kill me now, kill me, please…I can't live like this. Do it now, please, please, kill me…

The knife clattered at her feet. Foyet vanished. She sat there, and the only real thing was Hotch's hand in hers, and her shirt soaked with his blood, and the corpses of her team around her.

She woke up screaming.

After the pig farm, the dozens of shoes, after Kelly's ordeal…there was no way that sleep was going to come. She knew Morgan had wound up in the unfamiliar arms of another woman, that Rossi was even now sitting at a bar somewhere, that JJ was holding Henry as tightly as she could. Garcia would watch a Disney movie, perhaps, or go on an all-night shopping spree. Reid would write two letters that would never be mailed. One to his mother and one to Gideon.

And Hotch? She knew he would only want to see Jack, but that it was not his night to have him…He would surely be alone, for that was what he did. She was like him in that. They did not, could not find solace in the company of others. They came home from battling the monsters and battled their own minds.

So when the call came, it was almost a relief, to have something interrupt her insomnia. She was thrilled to hear that it was his voice on the line, and the thrill turned to panic when he gasped that he needed help…that Foyet had been there, waiting for him.

Hurry, Emily.

The fear cut into her cleanly, but the pain did not come yet…She was far too good at compartmentalizing for that.

She had grabbed her keys and weapon and was running before she knew what she was doing. Barely coherent, she managed to call EMS as she drove, breaking every speed limit along the way. The door was ajar; a trail of blood droplets led into the apartment. She drew her weapon and prepared to go in.

Foyet's body sprawled just beyond the entrance. No pulse. It's over.

Finally she allowed her terror to become paramount

"Hotch!" she screamed, sheathing her weapon. He had fallen next to a cart of drinks…blood was all over the floor. So much blood.

She knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Desperately, she tried to find the wound to staunch the bleeding.

"Prentiss," he rasped. "Emily…"

"Shh," she soothed him. "Where are you hit? Please, Hotch, I need to help you!"

He grimaced and gestured to his shoulder. "He didn't…he didn't want to kill me, Emily. He wanted me to suffer. I…I fell to the ground and reached for my ankle holster."

"I know, I know. Please, please stop moving. The paramedics are coming. Stay with me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving you." She grabbed a towel from the drinks cart and held it to his shoulder. His hand scrabbled at hers and she gripped it tightly. Where the fuck was EMS?

"Emily…" he slurred. "He's gone. I hit him."

"I know, Hotch, I know. Hotch, you have to stay awake, stay with me. I'm here. Please, Hotch. I'm not leaving you, I'll never leave you. I love you. You're right here with me. You're not alone. Hold on to me." Everything she wanted to say to him for so long, and now she was saying it here, now, as he bled out all over her. So much blood.

Only then did she realize…this exactly mirrored her nightmares.

Perversely, it was a dream come true.

A/N: This ends a bit abruptly, but I really wanted to do a post-ep for the finale. I had the idea and went with it. I'm considering expanding this, but for now it's a one-shot. If I take this farther, it would probably be H/P, but I could kill off Hotch and see how Emily/the team deals with that. For now, I'll leave it here. Let me know what you guys think.