Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Take the shot, Emily.”

“I can’t.” The unsub is perfectly framed in her scope but she is still adamant, clenching her jaw as a bead of sweat from the back of her neck travels down the length of her spine. “It’s too close. I’ll hit Hotch.”

But just as readily as she knows their protocol—knows that it is against Bureau regulations to unnecessarily endanger the life of a hostage—she also knows their profile. That if their unsub feels boxed in, he’ll go down shooting. And with Hotch in his grasp, that simply isn’t an option.

Undoubtedly thinking the same, Dave does not yield. “It’s the only chance we have,” his gentle yet insistent voice sounds in her earpiece. Even from miles away, she can feel the stress radiating off of him in waves. “You’ve got this. You know it.”

“It’s not by the book, Dave,” she warns, but she’s already shifting her weight forward.

“Screw the book.”

With no time left to catastrophize, Emily plants her feet and squares her shoulders, her body becoming an extension of her rifle. Every inch of her posture is perfect, a debutante primed for this over cotillion. 

There’s a click of concentration in her mind, the perfect moment, and on a thin exhale, she pulls the trigger—

—and watches in terror as their unsub and Hotch fall in a grand arc to the hard, unforgiving ground.

“No,” she whispers, her vision tunneling and her blood running cold. Not even a second passes before she is on her feet and running, her heart pounding so hard that she can hear its mocking beat in her ears as the distance between them diminishes, then diminishes some more.

And then she sees Hotch rise on wobbling legs, completely unharmed.

Unable to prevent it, Emily falls as her knees buckle beneath her, just as Hotch stumbles over to her and draws her into a tight hug. “It’s okay,” he pants, as if he, too, needs to hear the words aloud to believe them. “I’m okay.”

“I thought I had hit you,” she says, shivering into his side as he unconsciously pulls her in even closer. “Jesus, Hotch, I don’t know what I would have done if I...”

“I never doubted you for a second,” he reveals. “Not once.” 

With shaky fingers, Emily reaches out and wipes away the spray of the unsub’s blood from his temple and cheek. When their gazes meet, the look in his eyes at her ministration is so tender that she cups his face fully and kisses him on instinct, chaste and sweet.

She pulls back with an embarrassed smile tugging at her parted lips. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Adrenaline.”

Hotch can’t remember ever seeing her—the unbelievable, unflappable Emily Prentiss—look as sheepish as she does before him now, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks. The sight is so endearing that he can’t help but bring his hand to the back of her neck and utter a confession years in the making.

“It’s not just adrenaline for me,” he replies softly, before leaning back in and returning her kiss.