The team had ended up at one of its old haunts, a bar they hadn't gone to together in what seemed like a lifetime.

Their case had ended badly, very badly. All cases that ended with death-by-cop were particularly hard for the team, but this was among the worst. The man had been abducting young girls between the ages of six and ten, raping and murdering them and then dumping their bodies at a landfill. It wasn't fair that he had escaped justice.

So when the plane landed Morgan suggested they go out for a drink. The younger members agreed quickly, not ready to give up the companionship of those who knew what they had been through for the past four days. Rossi declined as he always did, and Hotch shook his head, telling his team he had to get home. Morgan was not taking no for an answer, reminding the unit chief that Jack was with Haley's sister. When he finally consented they all breathed an internal sigh of relief- they were worried about him.

It was almost like it used to be. Beautiful women still threw themselves at Morgan, to the excitement and chagrin of Garcia, Reid was still so out of place, JJ could still be one of the boys, and Prentiss fit somewhere in the middle of all of it. But it didn't take a profiler to see the difference in Hotch. It looked like he had aged ten years, but how could that surprise anyone?

As he sat at the bar nursing his beer, some bimbo took the seat next to him, appraising him quickly and deciding she liked what she saw. Hotch thought Rossi would appreciate this and he rolled his eyes as she began with the flirty chitchat. But he went along with it, because it was nice to talk about something inane, rather than the profile of yet another sexual sadist. He bought her a drink when she didn't press him after he told her he didn't want to talk about his job and she dragged him to the dance floor, proclaiming that her favorite song was playing.

She was in complete control of the dance, and that was fine by Hotch. He imagined his team was probably scandalized as she took his hand over her shoulder and leaned forward, moving her hips to the music and grinding firmly against him. He thought it was completely indecent, but it had been a long time since he'd any human contact like this, and his body responded of it is own accord.

When they song ended and he'd taken his place at the bar again, Morgan clapped his hand on Hotch's shoulder and looked at him like a proud father, insisting the team drink to Hotch's "moves." He smiled sheepishly as they gathered around the bar and raised their glasses.

And then they began to leave- JJ to get home to Will, Garcia desperate to see Kevin, Reid tired of striking out, and Morgan eager to bed his latest conquest.

Hotch's young friend had found someone of her own generation, but Prentiss had taken her place next to him. He could see the flush rising to her face and noticed her increasingly animated state as the vodka tonics really began to settle in. There was no way she was driving herself home.

They closed out their tabs and headed outside, Emily insisting she would take a cab. She moved to flag one down but slipped on the ice, regaining her balance when Hotch grabbed her waist. She turned to thank him but was met with an intense glare.

"Get in the car," he said, releasing her and walking towards the SUV. She stood there for a moment with her hands on her hands on her hips, pissed that he thought he could talk to her that way and then followed.

She got in and slammed the door, causing Hotch to look over at her.

"Who do you think you are?" she demanded. "I'm a grown woman, Hotch. I'm more than capable of getting myself home."

He didn't answer as he backed out of the parking spot and turned onto the street, heading for Prentiss' apartment. From the corner of his eye he could see her glaring at him expectantly.

"You're drunk and almost split your head open getting a taxi," he answered calmly.

"So I guess that demands a knight in shining armor?" she replied with a bitter laugh.

The rest of the drive was silent with the exception of several loud sighs from Emily. When they arrived at her building she practically leapt from the car, but he followed her, wanting to ensure she made it inside safely, or so he told himself. She rolled her eyes and stalked inside, jamming the button for the elevator. He lowered his head to keep her from seeing the smirk on his face.

They rode the elevator to her floor and he walked her to her door. She turned to look at him before getting out the keys.

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

"I wanted to make sure you made it home alright."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You knew I'd be fine from the minute I got in the front door. Is it because your little whore found someone else to go home with?" she spat.

He was angry for a moment, but as she fumbled with the keys and moved to slam the door in his face, recognition hit him. He held the door open with his arm and stepped inside.

"So that's what this is about," he said knowingly, leaning against the counter top. She flung her coat and purse to the ground and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. "I don't think you need that," Hotch observed.

"You have no idea what I need," she answered, slamming the glass bottle down on the counter. "You think you can ignore me all night and then offer me a ride home and expect me to be your warm body? Don't think I can't see through your façade."

"I never pegged you as the jealous type," he replied, knowing he was instigating her. Perhaps he had had more to drink than he realized.

"Go fuck yourself."

"That's not really what I had in mind," he answered, moving towards her slowly. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes daring him to make a move. They stood very close, staring one another down.

"Get out," and with that she turned to walk away. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her against him, pressing his lips against hers before she could object. Despite all of her bluster, she kissed back- eagerly.

Her mouth tasted faintly of alcohol, the sign that this was a horrible idea, but it didn't matter. From the moment she sat next to him at the bar, he knew this was going to be outcome of the night, because even though she thought he had been ignoring her all night, in reality he'd been watching her furtively. He couldn't arouse the suspicion of team.

She bit his lip- hard, and in retaliation he shoved her forcefully back into the counter. Neither had any illusions that they were making love- they were going to fuck.

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto the granite, running his hands under her shirt. It fell silently to the floor moments later, and in a move worthy of Morgan, he unclasped her bra on the first attempt. She noted that he was very rough and shuddered to think how that would manifest in other areas.

Slipping from the counter she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and used it to yank him close, pulling him into an obscene kiss. With her free hand she fumbled with his belt buckle and the button of his slacks. When both were undone she dropped to her knees, undoing the zipper and letting the fine material fall to the floor with a soft whoosh.

The tile was hard and cold against her knees, but when she looked up, Hotch was staring at her with a mix of vulnerability and need so powerful that she slipped her hands into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them to the floor anyway.

Hotch grasped the counter with a groan as she took him into her mouth- it had been far too long. She began with a slow rhythm, looking up at him through her eyelashes as she engulfed more and more of him. It was so wrong to be watching his subordinate suck his cock in the middle of her kitchen, but he couldn't find the will to care. He grasped a handful of her dark hair and twisted it through his fingers, urging her on. Emily continued at her own pace until he pulled her up abruptly.

He undid her pants and slipped his hand inside, letting his fingers brush over the lace of her panties before pushing them aside and letting his fingers run gently over her center. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support as his fingers explored, stroking persistently until she was almost unable to stand. They pulled apart and kicked off the material pooled at their ankles, leaving a pile of clothing and shoes in the kitchen as they hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

Emily undid the first few buttons of his shirt and then yanked it over his head before he shoved her back onto the sheets. She hit with a thud and watched as he crawled onto her bed, poised above her. She felt him begin to enter her and she moaned softly. He paused for a moment, letting her adjust and noticing just how tight she was (it must have been a long time for her too, he noted) and then he began to fuck her with languid strokes. They continued this way for a minute or two, getting used to each other until he got onto his knees and yanked her forward, throwing her knees over his shoulders. Emily gasped as he drove into her forcefully. It was almost too much to take. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room along with her moans and his heavy breathing.

It was as though he was taking out all of his frustration on her body and he stopped again, forcing Emily onto her knees as he fucked her from behind, grabbing her hair once again and pulling her head back towards him.

She cried out his name as he drove her over the edge and he followed not long after, biting her shoulder and drawing her close as he felt the release wash over him. She was almost glad they were not facing each other- she wasn't sure she could bear him knowing that this actually meant something.

They lay still for a moment, catching their breath. It didn't take long before they drifted to sleep, on separate sides of the bed.

When they saw each other at the office two days later, it was almost like it used to be. Hotch was the stern and humorless unit chief and Prentiss was the willing and bright agent. But each knew the other was watching, looking for a sign that what had happened wasn't just a one-time mistake, and neither was willing to let it show.