Chapter Text
Chapter 1
There he stood, frozen with fear and utterly powerless. Normally, Aaron Hotchner always knew what to do. He wasn’t the type to lose his composure easily—until today.
Earlier that day…
The BAU office was eerily quiet, with the team out conducting interviews. Hotch sat alone in his office, methodically sorting through files and writing reports. It was the most tedious part of his job, but also a welcome reprieve after weeks of nerve-wracking cases. The events of their last case, involving the sect led by Benjamin Cyrus, haunted him more than he cared to admit. Emily’s screams during her torture replayed in his mind, tearing at his heart and robbing him of sleep. He shook his head, trying to focus, and reached for a fresh stack of files when his phone buzzed.
The caller ID lit up with Rossi’s name. Rossi had left earlier with Emily and Spencer to follow up on an apartment lead. As Hotch answered, he was met with Rossi’s agitated voice, words jumbled in panic. He strained to make sense of it: something about Emily and… a bomb?
"Rossi, what? Slow down! Emily's standing on a what?" His breath hitched as the realization hit him—a bomb. Emily was standing on a bomb.
Adrenaline took over. Hotch bolted from his chair, grabbing his keys, and raced to the underground garage. The address from Emily’s file flashed in his mind as he sped toward the run-down building. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If he’d thought there was even a slight risk, he wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. After Colorado, he’d been watching her closely. The physical wounds might have healed, but the emotional ones lingered. Emily had been burying herself in work, avoiding her pain. She hadn’t cried, hadn’t laughed—and he didn’t know which was worse.
Arriving at the scene, he noted the police cars but no sign of the bomb squad. Ignoring attempts to stop him, he pushed through the crowd, barreled up the stairs to the third floor, and found Rossi waiting grimly at the door. “She’s in the living room,” Rossi muttered, stepping aside.
Hotch entered the small room and saw her. Emily stood frozen in the center, her gaze fixed on a painting on the wall. She turned her head slightly as he approached, her tear-streaked face breaking him.
“My God, Emily. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. She hated being seen like this, but he didn’t care. “We’re going to get you out of here. We’ll fix this.”
Her voice trembled. “Aaron…” The sound of his name laced with fear made him want to rip her away from the bomb and stand on it himself.
Emily broke the silence. “We had knocked on the door when we arrived,” she began, recounting the sequence of events, “and heard a loud noise inside. The door wasn’t locked, so we went in to check. I saw him trying to escape through the window, and then… I felt the click under my feet. I froze immediately.”
“It's going to be alright. I promise you that.”
The bomb squad finally arrived, dividing into teams. One group went downstairs to analyze the device from beneath, while the lead and another technician joined them in the apartment. Clarke, the head of the unit, briefed them: the bomb was activated by a sensor plate. Any change in pressure would detonate it.
“You’ll need to leave the room, preferably the building,” Clarke instructed.
Hotch shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving her.”
“Sir, I—”
“No!” he snapped, his voice brooking no argument.
“Aaron, please,” Emily pleaded softly. “Do what he says. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly.
“Fine, but it’s on you,” Clarke relented, leaving with the others.
And now, Hotch stood there, helpless. He watched her, his mind racing but finding no solutions.
“How long are you going to stand there like that, Aaron? Sit down or something,” she muttered, attempting levity.
He shook his head. “If you’re standing, I’m standing.”
Her heart ached. His unwavering presence made the situation simultaneously more bearable but also more painful.
Hotch paced the apartment, searching for anything that might help. Emily’s legs felt leaden, trembling from the strain.
“Aaron!” she snapped, startling him. “Stop pacing. You’re making this harder.”
Before he could reply, Clarke re-entered. “We’ve scanned the apartment. Agent Prentiss, the bomb is connected to a timer set for two hours. It might be disarmed remotely, but we’ll need the code.”
Hotch sprang into action, calling JJ to find the apartment owner, Peter Smith, and relaying the urgency. Meanwhile, he tore through the apartment, searching for a remote or clues.
“Aaron…”
“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he said suddenly.
Emily blinked, caught off guard.
“And today,” he continued, “you haven’t called me anything else.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she admitted. “But maybe I’ll keep calling you Aaron—if I survive this.”
Her whispered words shattered him. “We’ll find something. We’ll save you. I promise.”
She sighed, her faith wavering. Even with the remote, they’d still need the code. Why her? Why always her? The thought consumed her, but Aaron’s voice pulled her back.
“Stop. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t true. You don’t deserve this. We’ll fix it, like we always do.”
Tears welled in her eyes again as his hand found hers, steadying her trembling fingers.
“You’ve always been stronger than me,” he whispered.
“We’ll fix this,” she echoed, wanting nothing more than to hold him, to tell him she loved him. But for now, all she could do was stand still and hope.