Another religion turned against itself, another edifice constructed by the human mind, decimated by human nature...

--Arundhati Roy

It was strange, really, how hospital beds seemed to minimize everyone. Blur the edges so that pale, battered skin melded right into the fluorescent halo cast by the lights. And it wasn't only the bed's occupant: Those near enough took on some of the suffering as well in their anxiety, lessening the burden for their loved one. As they kept vigil over the injured and dying, they served as a vessel for pain. Alanna Huff's husband wasn't there yet, but the woman was already searching for him unconsciously, her eyes flicking up at any sign of movement from the hospital corridor beyond.

It was impossible not to recall the last time Emily had been in a hospital room, because, of course, she had been at his side then, gripping his hand and trying to express in behavior what she couldn't say in words. She had been the almost-loved one, not the agent. It struck her now, how she must have looked to the team or the nurses or even passersby – someone keeping watch over the man she loved, because that was exactly what she had been doing. The only difference had been that Hotch had been unwilling, unable to allow her to take on any of his pain. As usual, he had suffered in silence.

She wanted to linger in the past, to recall in sharp clarity what had passed between them during her last hospital visit. But her training took over, dragging her back to the present. Alanna Huff was the patient, not him, and she needed Emily's full attention now, no matter what memories were swimming through the room.

Rossi, displaying an unusual amount of tact, let her take the lead. He sat back as she guided Alanna through a mental reenactment of the attack. For a woman who had just been raped, she was remarkably calm, probably due to shock. Nevertheless, Alanna described the Ghost's MO perfectly, her body clenched rigidly throughout the interview. Emily had expected some outpouring of emotion, no matter how small, as was typical with rape victims, but Alanna held steady, answering every question thoroughly.

Now for the more delicate inquiries. With a gentle nod from Rossi, Emily wet her lips slightly and smiled encouragingly at Alanna.

"We – we need to know if there's been any disturbance in your life recently."

Alanna blinked twice, the corners of her mouth tightening. "Such as?"

There wasn't any good way to say it. "An affair, perhaps."

No response, only a narrowing of the eyes. But that was enough.

"There's something, Alanna, we know there is," Emily pressed. "You're hurting now, inside and out, but we have to know. We'll get closer to this guy with any information that you can give us."

Alanna bit down hard on her lip, then seemed to give in. "Not – not an affair. But there was one night. Patrick was out of town, and I went out on my own….It was just one time. A mistake. I didn't even know the guy." She looked at both of them earnestly, imploringly. "I was drunk. I never go out normally, but I've felt so – trapped lately with Patrick. He's always traveling. I only wanted to relax."

Emily took her hand without hesitation. "It's okay. No one's judging you. Did you tell anyone about this? When did it happen?"

The taut lines on Alanna's face crumpled like a balled-up piece of paper. "It was…a couple of weeks ago," she admitted, guilt evident on her face. "But the man…tonight…was completely different, I swear. I didn't know him….I couldn't stop him…."

And now she began to cry without abandon, the first sign of emotion all night. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she brushed them away weakly before Emily could.

"I'm sorry," Alanna hiccupped. "You're t-trying to ask questions, and I'm a wreck. I n-never thought anything like this would ever h-happen to me…." She dissolved into tears, unable to say anything more.

Empathy flooded into Emily as she sat there holding Alanna's hand, for both of them seemed to be cast from the same mold: strong, independent women who were breaking down as everything around them fell apart, thinking that any display of emotion was a sign of effeminate weakness. Rossi left the room quietly, and Emily was grateful that he understood that Alanna was more likely to speak frankly without a male in the room.

After five minutes and about half a box of Kleenex, Alanna seemed to have cried herself out. She pushed herself up in the bed and sipped at the water Emily offered.

"Is there anyone who could know about this?" asked Emily.

Alanna's forehead creased in thought. "Patrick doesn't. I was alone that night. I haven't even told any of my friends. I don't…I don't think so."

"You're sure?"

The other woman paused momentarily. "I did….You have to understand, I'm a lapsed Catholic. We don't go to church. Patrick's an atheist, but I just felt so guilty about doing this to him. There's a church that I go to sometimes…just to pray. And…and…I haven't confessed since I was a child. It was the only thing I could think of to do."

"You confessed to a priest?" Excitement surged in her stomach, but she tamped it down.

"Yes. Just once. I'm sorry, but is this important? I…I don't like thinking about what happened."

"It's crucial. You're doing great – please continue," said Emily. She leaned forward, making eye contact with Alanna. "You confessed to the priest about this night. What did he say to you? Did you recognize his voice?"

Alanna shook her head as her face contorted again with the onset of tears. "I didn't know him," she moaned. "The only thing he said…he said that God knew what was in my heart."

Emily inhaled sharply. "You're sure?" If it's true…there'll be hell to pay.

"I – I think so. I thought it was odd that he didn't say anything else."

"Okay. Alanna, thank you so much. This is exactly what we needed." She clasped the other woman's hand, feeling the cold metal of Alanna's wedding ring sting her fingers. Tangible infidelity, she thought wryly. She hasn't been wearing her wedding ring while her husband is away. "Please get some rest. Your husband will be here soon."

She was nearly out of the room when Alanna's voice, thin, wavering, reached her.

"Emily?"

She turned.

"Do you believe in God?"

Pause. "I don't know. Sometimes."

When she spoke again, Alanna's voice was that of a child's.

"I don't think I can anymore. Not after this."

A/N: Many apologies for my absence and for the disjointed feel of this chapter. It's been a rough couple of months for me and I think it's reflected in my writing….but as always, please read and review.

Also, I have a new Hotch-centric one shot up, so please go check that out too! mysticlake