Fractured Edges

The moment Hotch's lips met hers, the world tilted on its axis.

Emily's fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. His hands cradled her face, firm but careful, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

The kiss was desperate, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once.

Then reality crashed back in.

Hotch pulled away first, his breath uneven. Emily's heart pounded as she stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Hotch whispered, "We can't."

Emily swallowed hard, nodding even though it felt like she was splintering apart. "I know."

But neither of them moved.

They stood there, the weight of what they had done pressing down on them like a physical force. Hotch's hand was still on her cheek, his thumb ghosting over her skin as if memorizing the feel of her.

Then, with visible effort, he stepped back. "This can't happen again."

Emily's chest tightened, but she forced herself to nod. "Okay."

He didn't look convinced.

Neither was she.

The next morning, the team boarded the jet back to Quantico, and the distance between them was suffocating.

Emily sat across from Hotch, but he barely looked at her. His walls were back up, higher than ever, and she hated how much that hurt.

Morgan gave her a questioning look at one point, but she just shook her head, pretending everything was fine.

It wasn't.

She replayed the kiss over and over in her mind, the way he had held her, the way he had whispered we can't even as he pulled her closer.

She had known for a long time that she had feelings for him—buried deep, hidden under layers of professionalism and self-denial. But now, after that night, after feeling what it was like to have him for just a second...

She didn't know how to go back.

Back at Quantico, things didn't return to normal.

Hotch was colder, more distant. He barely spoke to her unless it was about work, and when he did, his voice was clipped, controlled.

It was like he was trying to erase whatever had happened between them.

Emily tried to do the same, but it was impossible.

One night, after a long day of paperwork, she found herself in his office doorway, knocking softly.

Hotch looked up from his desk, his expression unreadable. "Prentiss."

She hesitated, gripping the doorframe. "Are we ever going to talk about it?"

Hotch's jaw tensed. "There's nothing to talk about."

Emily exhaled, her chest tightening. "You really believe that?"

For a second—just a second—something flickered in his eyes. But then he steeled himself, closing the file in front of him. "This can't affect the team."

Her stomach twisted. "I would never let it affect the team."

Hotch stood, his hands braced on the desk. "I can't risk it."

Emily swallowed hard. "And what about what we want?"

The silence was deafening.

Then, finally, he said, "It doesn't matter."

Emily's breath caught.

Hotch held her gaze for a long moment, like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. Then, without another word, he sat back down and turned his attention to his paperwork.

Dismissed.

Emily's hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to say something, to fight for this, but she knew him too well.

She knew that right now, he wouldn't let himself want her.

So she turned and walked out, letting the door close softly behind her.

But as she left, she heard something that made her chest tighten even more.

A heavy exhale.

Like he was breaking just as much as she was.