Author's Note: For those of you following Lonely Hearts, this is the story I mentioned that helped me out last month. I finished it! And given the feel/warmth I wanted for it, I decided to put it into the Girl'verse late October. It's just before H/P have their respective 'revelations' about being in love. So it's a missing evening between chapters 105 and 106.

Also, thank you anybody/everybody who nominated me in the Profiler's Choice awards this year! :) I got three, including Best Author (which is awesome) so again, thank you! And if you have any interest in voting for me (as always, do so love the shameless self pimping portion of this process!) here's the pen name for the profile. No spaces. You can get to it from the site search:

ProfilerChoiceAwards2013

Thanks!

Prompt Set #6

Show: That's So Raven

Title Challenge: Ye Olde Dating Game

Princess Emily and the Seven Dopey Dates

"So what do you do?"

"I'm a claims adjuster."

"Oh, where do you work?"

"An insurance company . . . in the claims department."

"Ah . . . right. Any um, hobbies?"

"I collect commemorative Civil War era teaspoons."

Seeing "Arnie's" jaw clench at her last response . . . her most ridiculous 'hobby' yet . . . Emily bit down a sigh as she slumped back in her chair.

Christ, this sucked.

At present she was stuck in the midst of the date from hell. Or more specially fifteen dates from hell. It was a speed dating event that Garcia had tricked her into attending under the guise of straight up 'girls night out' drinking. And that invite had been precipitated by Penelope having a big fight with Kevin . . . in the office mind you, Hotch had not been pleased . . . so Emily had agreed to the evening out to help her friend decompress. But then, apparently, Garcia had decided that just blowing off steam wasn't enough. No, she wanted to "dip her toes back into the ye olde dating pool."

Her words.

But unfortunately she'd made no mention of this "toe dipping" when she'd first grabbed Emily on the way out of the office to ask if she was up for a mini pub crawl in Georgetown. And given that it was a Wednesday night . . . aka no standing get together with Hotch and Jack . . . and JJ was on the verge of giving birth at LITERALLY any moment . . . so obviously not up for any kind of pub crawling, mini or not . . . Emily had said sure, what the hell. Going out for a few hours with Penelope (who she hadn't actually seen much of lately on the social front) had sounded like it would be a fun night.

At least until she got to the bar.

That's when she'd walked through the door to find Garcia standing by the entrance with a sheepish grin on her face. Then she began explaining that she'd signed them both up for ninety minutes of speed dating. That was a fact disclosed WHILE she was passing Emily the giant sticker with her name already neatly printed out on it in black magic marker.

Emily had been ready to throttle her.

Seriously, it was a complete and TOTAL misrepresentation of their evening! Plus, this was not a "fun" misrepresentation of their evening! This was a "are you fucking KIDDING me?!" misrepresentation. For one thing, Emily had ZERO interest right now in dating AT ALL! Let alone going out somewhere to sit there like a piece of ass up for auction while yahoo after yahoo passed by her station just to size her up.

It made her feel cheap and dirty.

This was not a 'high end' function. The guys were dressed like they had money . . . some of them clearly spending more on their silk tailored shirts than she had on her whole outfit . . . but it was also very obvious why they had no girlfriends.

They were creeps.

Seriously, big time sleazy, scuzzy, borderline date rapist, creeps. Most of the ones that she'd met had been openly checking out her boobs before side eying her ass in the mirror on the wall behind her. They'd even been RATING her face!

In FRONT of her actual face!

Yeah, she'd seriously seen two douchebags (who were clearly buddies) making hand gestures to one another as they rotated chairs. Apparently she was a "five" . . . maybe a six after a couple of drinks.

At least that's what she'd taken from the 'imbibing' gestures that she'd deciphered in the mirrored reflection when she'd leaned down to scratch her leg.

That guy . . . the one making the gestures, who was himself an eleven on the CREEPOMETER(!) . . . had then sat down at her station with a smirk on his smarmy little rat'like face. She'd taken one look at it, and given him a swift kick under the table. She'd hit his balls dead on.

He hadn't come back from the bathroom since.

So that was her one four minute break where she'd gotten to sit by herself without benefit of creepy male company that made her want to take a Silkwood shower. And if not for Garcia practically bursting into tears when Emily had first shoved the 'hello my name is' sticker back in her face with a, "no way in freaking hell am I doing this crap," she would have walked out the door not just then, but the INSTANT that she'd learned the real plans for the evening. But Penelope's eyes had started watering and she was fluttering her hands in her face and stammering about this relationship with Kevin being her first serious one in years, and she didn't know what she was going to do if they broke up, and she just needed to see what was out there and, yada yada . . . yada. And pretty soon Emily's Catholic guilt had kicked in and she was grinding her teeth while muttering, "fine, I'll stay an hour."

She'd been regretting that mutter ever since.

Halfway through 'date' number one . . . she was currently on date number six . . . all she'd wanted to do was go home. Or more specifically, go to Hotch's home. Because she was pretty sure that spending the rest of the evening snuggling up on the couch with him (and of course a pizza and a nice cold beer) might just help her forget that all other men in the world were pigs, and that she was in the mood to carve up some bacon.

And those had been her feelings on date ONE!

But now that she was forty plus minutes into this hellish ninety minute process, Emily was seriously close to beating somebody's face into the wall. The ONLY thing that was keeping her semi-sane was the oh so precious whiskey sour (double shot of whiskey) that she was guarding on her body like it was the Hope Diamond. But she didn't trust any of these jackasses as far as she could throw them . . . and she could throw a guy pretty damn far . . . so she'd been keeping her drink down between her thighs.

It was the only place she could guarantee that it wouldn't get roofied.

And though she so wanted to just pound it down . . . and then order another three doubles right in a row . . . she knew that it was more much important that she keep her wits fully about her, than to drift off into a blissful state of oblivion. So just one drink per hour was all that she was allowing herself to ingest.

It sucked.

Especially given that this was SUPPOSED to be a night out specifically for copious quantities of alcohol and embarrassing full body flail dancing! Yeah, Garcia was going to owe her HUGE for this one!

Just then, as Emily was taking another quick sip of whiskey, she heard the monitors announcing one minute to wrap the current dating match-ups. In Emily's case, current match up still being "Arnie." He'd been stumped for discussion points since she'd basically described herself as the most boring person on the planet.

From that point he'd just been staring at her tits.

And after shooting him a nasty glare . . . to which he had no reaction . . . finally she just rolled her eyes, muttered an obscenity under her breath, and slid her phone of her pants pocket.

Enough of this crap.

So with a two-fold process of lifting her drink to take a sip, she quickly pulled up Hotch's number with the half an eye she still had down to where her phone was sitting on her thigh.

Then she started typing with one thumb.

And given that she was absolutely MISERABLE . . . and almost done with her double dose hard liquor drink with no food in her system at all . . . the first thing she ended up typing, (I miss you) ended up being a bit more heartfelt than she had planned to write when she'd pulled out her phone. But still, after just a half second's pause, she decided to hit send anyway.

She meant it, so why not tell him?

And then ten plus seconds later, she felt her phone vibrate in her hand. Her gaze shifted down.

'How drunk are you? And where am I picking you up?'

Though her mouth briefly quivered . . . of course he thought she was drunk, without context her message had been a bit of a non sequitur . . . she quickly got that under control. Then she typed back.

'Not drunk. Garcia shanghaied me into two hours of speed dating. Only been 40 minutes, 6th date, 9th level of hell.'

Then she pressed send . . . there was another pause . . . and her phone shook again. Her eyes shot down . . . up to creepy tit loving Arnie . . . and back down again.

'Tell me where you are, and I'll rescue you before jackass number seven swoops in.'

For a moment she hesitated in writing back. Though she wanted SO, SOOO, SOOOOOO badly to bail on this horrible night, she was still afraid of Penelope's reaction.

I.e. a complete and total sob fest in the middle of the bar.

But then Emily remembered that she'd only really promised to stay an hour. And by the time Hotch actually got to the bar, it would be rolling up on just an hour then.

Perfect.

So as the buzzer went off and her date switched from creepy Arnie to obnoxious "Chad" . . . he dropped down into the seat with "hi, I have jaguar and work on The Hill," gag times two . . . she quickly typed back.

'The Dragon Wheel. Wisconsin & P . . . I owe you my first born!'

And then she went back to her "date." Though it only took another minute for that one to hit bottom. Chad started talking about Paris Hilton being a, "really funny and cool girl." Apparently he'd just met her at a fundraiser over the weekend . . . or at least he claimed to have met her, who the frig knew really . . . but either way, Emily had enough right there. She put her finger up, shook her head . . . and then mimed zipping her lips.

And that was that.

The frost was almost immediately a visible entity hanging over the table. So they just stared at each other for the remaining three minutes.

And then the buzzer went off.

Emily bit down a groan . . . God, she was going to have to sit through ANOTHER one!

But then the moderator suddenly . . . and most unexpectedly . . . called for a bathroom break.

Yes . . . Emily leapt up from her table . . . thank Christ! Now she was getting the HELL out of there!

So as half the women in the room began to migrate in a herd like fashion towards the one tiny ladies room, she quickly worked her way around the crowd and over to where she spotted Garcia chatting up a VERY handsome man off in the corner. Given the white cloth over his shoulder, Emily was thinking that maybe he was a bartender. He also looked a HELL of a lot Derek.

Like so much so that Emily actually paused and did a double take.

And though her first inclination was that she should put a stop to that . . . that with this guy's doppelganger looks Pen might be taking a bounce back to her mooney days when Emily first arrived and her friend followed Derek around like a sad puppy . . . but then she realized that it really wasn't any of her God damn business. If Penelope wanted to work out her, "Kevin's a douchey little man child so we're on a break," stress over her relationship situation, by having a one night stand with a REALLY, extremely, hot facsimile of her old crush, then who the hell was she to lecture her otherwise?

She wasn't her mom.

So Emily just gave her a quick half wave to get her attention, and then waited while Pen excused herself with a giggle and a lingering pat to fake Morgan's chest.

Oh, yeah, she was SO trying to get laid!

But then a few seconds later she'd extricated herself and was walking up to where Emily was waiting for her for the sign in station. Emily was already wrinkling her nose as she hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

"It's been just about an hour and, sorry, but I have to get out of here. I'm really, REALLY," she shook her head vehemently, "really, not having a good time."

For a moment Garcia pouted back at her, but Emily wasn't sure if that was because she was leaving, or if she was distressed that Emily wasn't enjoying herself. But then her friend stepped forward and leaned up her tiptoes to put her arms around Emily's neck.

"I'm sorry I dragged you to this thing," she whispered in her ear, "I was thinking it would be a fun surprise, but really," she leaned back to give her a sad smile, "I guess I sort of knew that it wouldn't be your kind of scene. So in retrospect, I guess it was a little jerky to ask you to meet me here anyway."

Though Emily was still a bit irritated at the subterfuge . . . tricking your friend into an evening that you just acknowledged that you KNEW she wouldn't enjoy really wasn't a cool thing to do . . . nonetheless she appreciated the fact that Garcia was being honest.

And that she had apologized.

So she found herself immediately patting her back and saying, "it's okay, don't worry about it." And she did that because that's what you do. You lie and tell people that saying sorry made it all better.

Even when it totally didn't.

But . . . Emily pulled away and put up her hand for a quick wave goodbye . . . in the grand scheme this was a very minor offense against their friendship. So in a day or so the irritation would fade. And then the lie would become truth.

And that's how the world went round and round.

Just then the moderators made an announcement for people to begin returning to their tables . . . and that was Emily's cue to hit the bricks. With final yell of "be safe!" to Garcia, she made a beeline towards the exit, ripping off her name tag as she went running across the room like a marathon sprinter.

She was shoving the crumbled up sticker into the trash can by the door, when her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. Her eyes crinkled.

Hotch.

And sure enough, when she pulled it out, 'I'm here' was the little message on the screen. So she slammed through the dark wood door, already scanning the street before she'd even taken a step out onto the busy Georgetown sidewalk.

Then her eyes widened when she saw Hotch's jeep parked up on the corner of the next block. She could see it so clearly because he'd snagged a spot under a streetlight. So she immediately started hurrying in that direction, but she'd only take a few steps before she heard from directly behind her.

"Hey pretty girl, you looking for a date."

And she spun around to see Hotch smirking at her.

"Hi," she grinned as she threw her arms around his neck, "no! I already had seven of them! But thank you so, so," she briefly paused to smack a half dozen kisses on his cheek, "much, for coming to get me!"

Trying to stifle his laughter at her exuberant hello . . . he was pretty sure he was covered in lipstick now . . . Hotch snorted an amused, "of course," while wrapping Emily up in a tight hug.

Then, while still keeping her close, he leaned back slightly to look down at her pretty face. And though his expression sobered, it was still soft as he brushed her hair off her cheek.

"You know I'll always come get you," he whispered, "doesn't matter where you are. Or what time of day. You need me, and I'm there, you remember that, okay?"

That was one point that he felt was so important to continue to drive home with her. Because she'd spent so many years . . . most of her life . . . having to take care of herself. And she did that in part because of her independent streak, but also . . . mostly . . . just because she didn't have anyone else. Her parents traveled, she had no siblings, and he knew her track record with interpersonal relationships was generally 'bad.' So he just wanted her to remember, things had changed.

She had him now.

Feelings her eyes start to sting . . . as expected, she'd known ten seconds with Hotch would restore her dismal opinion of his entire gender . . . Emily nodded back at him with a faintly watery smile.

"Okay," she whispered, "thanks."

Then she again leaned her head against his chest, and he let out a soft sigh as he rubbed his hand up and down her back. They stood there for a moment, ignoring the few pedestrians strolling past them . . . it was only a medium traffic area . . . as Emily just let herself de-stress. But then she heard a pair brakes screech, and she winced at the high pitched noise. And she was just about to ask Hotch if they could go back to his place, when his hand stilled on her lower back.

Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear.

"Given that you had such a lousy night," he said softly, "I thought that maybe we could go do something special to even things out."

She'd been genuinely excited about this night with Garcia, and he hated that she'd been so disappointed about how things had turned out.

Really, he just hated to see her unhappy.

Feeling a little burst of warmth at Hotch's words . . . he was such a sweetie . . . Emily's eyes were sparkling when she lifted her head to look up at him.

"Where are we going?"

He winked.

"You'll see."

*/*/*/*/

They ended up having dinner at Emily's favorite restaurant. Mie N Yu. Hotch had called and made a reservation on his way over to pick her up. But given that it was old home week at half of the universities in the immediate area, the earliest slot that they could get in was nine forty-five. But that still worked out fine.

It was just shy of nine o'clock when Hotch had picked Emily up in front of the bar.

But even with the short walk through the neighborhood to get from the bar to the restaurant, they still had about twenty minutes to kill before they'd be seated, so they decided to wander through Barnes and Noble.

The original plan had really just been to do some browsing, but when Hotch came back from the children's section with a new Berenstain Bears book for Jack . . . okay, it was kind of for him too, he was just getting REALLY sick of reading 'Visit the Dentist' . . . he found Emily still at the New Releases table. That's just where he'd left her, but at that time (about six minutes earlier) she was empty handed, and now she was juggling a half dozen soft covers that she was apparently planning on buying that night.

And Hotch's lips started to twitch as he reached over to slip half of the books to his own grasp before she dropped them on the ground. Then he tipped his head towards the register.

"We should get going before I need a wheel barrel and a Sherpa to get you out of here," he stated drily.

Emily bit down a soft chuckle.

"Well," she continued with a faint huff as they started walking towards the counter, "I haven't been book shopping in forever, and they just put out a bunch of new stuff that looks good." Then she turned to give him a little smile.

"Hey, do you think that maybe we could start working the bookstore into our regular weekend plans with Jack?" Her eyebrow inched up as they approached an open register, "couple times a month or something?"

"Yeah," Hotch's eyes crinkled as he started putting her books down on the counter, "that sounds like a really good idea. You know Jack's started reading a bit on his own now, so he'll be happy to be able to pick out his own books."

This was the PERFECT age to help develop a love of reading in his son. And also . . . side note . . . as a weekend dad with a hectic job, Hotch would feel a bit better about his guilt twinges when he was called away on a case, if he could buy his son's love back with new books rather than new toys.

It was a fine moral line, but one that he was okay standing on the right, (literary), side of.

So after Emily had purchased her half a library and he'd bought the newest Berenstain adventure . . . 'Too Much Junk Food,' a book he was planning on making Emily read as well . . . they started towards the exit.

But then Hotch realized that somehow he had ended up carrying Emily's twenty pound bag while she had scooped up his twenty ounce one. But when he tried to bring this point to Emily's attention while simultaneously shooting her a mock angry eyebrow on the matter, she just responded with a sad pout.

He immediately found his lips twitching.

Then he slipped his arm around her waist and pushed open the door.

"You're absolutely shameless," he muttered as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

And she grinned.

"I know."

*/*/*/*/

When they walked out of the restaurant a little after eleven, there was a bit of a chill in the air. And seeing Emily shiver when they started down the sidewalk, Hotch suddenly squeezed her hand and after walking them a few more feet, pulled her over to the closed store front of Pottery Barn. Once off the sidewalk, he put the oversized plastic bag down on the ground (Jack's book had been tucked in with hers) so he could slip off his black suede jacket. He wrapped it around Emily's shoulders.

As he was pulling her hair out of the collar, she gave him a soft smile.

"Thanks," she murmured appreciatively, "I didn't bring my own because I was afraid I'd take it off at the bar and then forget all about it. You know I've lost four sets of gloves that way."

Seeing Hotch's eyes crinkle at her story, just before the corner of his mouth quirked up, Emily unexpectedly found her gaze shifting down to his lips. And then she flashed on her birthday in New York, and then the night of their last science experiment here at home. Those were both really good nights . . . and that was one REALLY good experiment.

Hmm.

And pondering those results on that random Wednesday night was most likely how Emily suddenly found herself up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to Hotch's.

And this was a kiss that had nothing to do with experimentation.

Partly it was an impulse, and partly it was a thank you . . . and partly it was probably her earlier whiskey plus the two glasses of wine with dinner.

But it was also something else.

It was a need. One that she didn't quite understand herself right then. But reasons didn't really matter all that much anyway. Because at that point in their relationship, they'd engaged in enough 'random kissing' (on both sides) that there was nothing at all unusual or awkward about her behavior.

In fact, Hotch simply went with the moment.

He tipped his head down and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her close to his chest. Her body was pressed against his, her fingers clenching the soft cotton of his polo shirt. And then he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing lightly against her lips right before her mouth opened.

Their tongues swirled together . . . and then apart. He tasted faintly of the Tic Tac he'd popped after dinner . . . and he also tasted of him. And a moment later, when she pulled away . . . slightly breathless, Emily was ridiculously happy.

And she didn't quite understand that completely either.

But again it didn't matter. Not really. She just tipped her head back to see if Hotch was feeling the same way.

That . . . his reaction . . . actually did matter.

And she could see that he was looking down at her with a softness in his eyes . . . and an amused curiosity on his lips. Lips, that even in the dim light coming through the storefront windows, were slightly swollen. And they had a bit of her remaining lipstick on them.

She wiped it away with the pad of her thumb.

But rather than answering his unasked question . . . why . . . and she knew he wouldn't ask anyway, again, it didn't matter . . . she simply leaned forward and rested her cheek against his chest.

"Thank you for dinner, and again for rescuing me from the Seven Dopey Dates," she murmured against the soft cotton. And he chuckled and patted her hip.

"Of course. As I said earlier, anything for the beautiful Princess Emily."

Her eyes crinkled, but then a moment from earlier in the night came back to her, and she looked up at him with a faint pout. This one was not intended to be manipulative.

This one was just because she was sad.

"Those guys were mean to me. One of them said I was a five. Six if he was drunk."

Hotch's expression immediately sobered . . . then darkened.

"Fucking asshole," he muttered, his gaze flicking over her shoulder.

Then he shook his head slightly and refocused on Emily. Then leaned down to give her one more light kiss. It just lasted a few seconds, and when he pulled back, his expression was again soft.

As was his tone.

"You are a ten," he whispered fervently with a gentle brush of his thumb along her lower lip, "inside and out. And don't ever listen to any jackass who says any different, got it?"

Christ, if only he could protect her from all the assholes of the world. She already had scars from her youth which fed into her recurrent bouts of low self-esteem. So she sure as hell didn't need to be hearing any crap from those douchebags. And they were clearly blind anyway!

She was gorgeous!

Feeling her eyes start to burn, Emily quickly nodded back.

"Got it," she gave him a watery smile, "thanks. And you know," she sniffed, "ditto on the tens. You are very sweet, and pretty hot."

Hotch's mouth started to quiver.

"Thank you," he whispered with faint snort before pulling her into a hug, "best compliment I ever got. And now," his gaze shifted up and over her shoulder, taking in the traffic and pedestrians just beyond them, "I should get you home."

The wind was picking up and if he kept her out much longer, she was probably going to catch a cold.

She did basically have an amphibious body temperature.

"Um," Emily bit her lip, "actually can I sleep at your place?" She squeezed his fingers while adding shyly, "and maybe get a cuddle?"

Though cuddling was becoming an 'evening standard' whenever they were alone together, sometimes she still felt the need to schedule the activity up front. Those were the nights when she wanted him to know which level of priority the activity would be taking. And tonight that level would be, "high."

Hotch's expression softened.

"Yes," he whispered while brushing her hair back behind her ear, "I'm pretty sure that activity can be arranged." And seeing the soft smile he got in return, he gave her one more tight hug, and then he took a breath, grabbed the bag from by their feet, and started to walk them back out to the sidewalk.

They were holding hands.

"Is there anything else you want to do tonight?" He asked a bit more brightly as they started back up towards Wisconsin, "a movie, a TV show, etc., etc."

"Um," her jaw twisted, "maybe we could get a pizza."

He shot her a side eye.

"A pizza?" He asked incredulously, "you do realize that you just finished a three course meal not ten minutes ago, right?"

"Right," she nodded, "and by the time we get home that ten minutes will have stretched to like forty-four because we're going to stop and get a movie first. And then we're going to be settling in to watch said movie and you know that after like an hour, my stomach is going to be grumbling. And that, of course, is when I'll be looking for my pizza that you're going to order me when we get to your place," she shook her head sadly, "silly man."

Though Hotch's lips twitched, he chose not to comment on Emily's pizza insanity. The woman's metabolism was the thing of legend. So he just moved on to the next point she'd mentioned.

"And which movie are we getting?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

She looked up at him hopefully.

"I was thinking maybe Casablanca. I wanted to watch something romantic."

Hotch snorted.

"Casablanca isn't romantic! They break up at the end."

"Yeah, but," she swung his hand, "they break up for principle. That's what makes it romantic."

He scowled.

"The guy's still standing there at the airport like a chump. If you want something romantic," his jaw twisted back and forth as they walked along, "how about, City of Angels?"

A good film by itself, and also, yet another fine entry in Nicolas Cage's history of filmography!

"Hmm," Emily tipped her head over to Hotch's arm, "maybe." Then her brow wrinkled. "Oh, wait. She dies at the end." She frowned, "I can't watch that right now. It'll make me cry. Well," she sighed, "I guess maybe we could just see what's in your DVDs."

"That's fine Emily," Hotch huffed slightly, "but just a reminder that the majority of my DVDs are geared towards the intellect and attention span of a three year old boy."

Emily's eyebrow quirked up as she lifted her head.

"Do you have the Muppets?"

Though she'd spent many an evening at Hotch's place, she still hadn't really gone through his DVDs. When it came to movies, mostly they just watched something that she brought over from her place, or something new they picked up on the way home.

Hotch shot Emily a smirk.

"Original Muppet Movie, the Great Muppet Caper, and," he tipped his head, "my personal favorite, The Muppets Take Manhattan. So take your pick."

She grinned.

"Oh, we are SO watching all three!"

Okay, so they weren't exactly the 'classic' romances she was picturing to wrap up the evening, but really, were there ever any GREATER star crossed lovers than Kermit and Piggy?

No, no there were not!

"Emily," Hotch snorted and patted her arm, "you do know that it's already after eleven?" They turned then around the corner onto Wisconsin, "so I don't think that we'll really have time for more than one movie tonight. We can watch the rest this weekend with Jack, okay?"

For a second Emily pursed her lips, focusing in on the cool fall air filling her lungs. Then she looked back up at Hotch.

"Saturday night," she asked hopefully, "can we do a Muppet double feature and hot dog/tater tot casserole?"

The hot dog/tater tot casserole was a culinary delight that Emily had not been familiar with prior to her involvement with the Hotchner boys.

So many lost years.

Feeling his mouth start to quiver . . . she was adorable . . . Hotch bit down on his lip. And as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, he whispered.

"Anything for the beautiful Princess Emily."

When she looked up at him with a little smile and a faint tinge of color in her cheeks, he winked. And a ten seconds later when she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and got her boot stuck, he snorted to himself.

Well, nobody said she wasn't still a klutz!

And after helping her get her heel unstuck, and then helping her get the gum off her fingers that she picked up while getting her heel unstuck, they each gave their hands a liberal dousing of hand sanitizer . . . and headed home.

A/N 2: I started writing this with H/P already dating, and then it morphed to a version of them right on the cusp of getting together. And I liked it that way, because it was a bit sweeter. That all she wanted to make her feel better was a night cuddled up on with him, and that he would be there to "rescue" her in ten minutes flat. And those being their base urges with them not even dating yet. So with them NOT involved, I decided to put it in Universe A, just after the trip to NY for her birthday. But I still have two unique pages written for this idea initially, that really only work with them already romantically involved. And I hate to toss two pages of work when there's really nothing wrong with it. So, at some point I might also do a variation in Universe C.

Also, I'm considering this done as is. It seems unlikely I'll come up with sufficiently 'interesting' dialogue to warrant continuing on with them back at Hotch's place :)

And thank you everyone who wrote in with the kind and supportive words on my nephews' situation. They were much appreciated, and all things considered, they're still doing very well :)