This is for saturdayslump, my gorgeous beta who always makes my fics so much better than they were originally! Thanks L, I really appreciate it. This is also for my beautiful readers who asked for a sequel and said I can't just leave my Paris fic the way it is! :D Here you go, guys. I hope you like it.

As mentioned, this is Hotch and Emily's reunion after their meeting in Paris.

Disclaimer: I do not own of these characters and no infringement is intended.

Doyle is dead.

These three small words echoes repeatedly in his head long after Morgan utters that stark statement. He barely hears his subordinate, who proceeds to launch into the circumstances leading to Doyle's death. He doesn't care. All he can think about is her. For the past five months, she has consumed his thoughts. He thinks about her constantly, sometimes at the most inopportune of times. It is a dangerous habit to cultivate when he is involved in sensitive peace talks in a country such as Pakistan. But try as he might, iron will or not, he is unable to shut her away. Something is always triggering his memory of her. He thinks of her laughing, sleeping, stroking his temple. Even more, he dreams of her every night. Vivid dreams that choke him with disappointment when he wakes and realizes she's not lying beside him.

He is going to see her again. As soon as humanly possible.

"I'm coming home," he tells Morgan.

She's home.

She still can't quite believe that she is actually standing on American soil. Ever since she received the call from JJ, she has been operating on autopilot. Aside from moments where she thinks of her teammates or her mother, every thought is focussed on him... on the fact that she will be seeing him again. Very, very soon.

She thought she missed him before. But it has been nothing compared to the pain of being apart from him these last five months. It feels as if he took her heart with him when he left, leaving a gaping emptiness in her. Every fibre of her being aches for him. She would have risked her life if it meant being able to have just one glimpse of him. But it is not just her life at stake, there are others. The only thing that eases the pain for a time is when she puts on the movie they had watched together that night in his hotel room- the night when she came to the realisation that she is in love with her ex-supervisor. She sees the irony of their situation. They are finally free of the impediment posed by their professional relationship, and yet they cannot be together because of her past.

Her palms are damp with sweat as she waits for her luggage; her eyes train on the opening from where a piece of luggage spews once every few seconds. She is not even sure why she has brought her clothes from Paris. She wants nothing more than to give every single piece to charity. She wants a fresh start, with nothing to remind her of her time in "exile." But she is nothing if not practical; she will have more than enough to deal with without having to worry about her wardrobe. She realises that her thoughts have drifted, as if subconsciously trying to distract her from whom she is to see in a mere matter of minutes.

She sees her grey suitcase approach. A kind-looking man in his fifties helps her lift it off the baggage carousel and she thanks him. She wheels her bag to the customs check point and as she waits for it to be x-rayed, starts to tap her fingers nervously. She stops abruptly when she realises what she is doing. It will not do if she is stopped by the customs officer just because she looks nervous. She cannot afford any delay. She needs to see him. Words cannot express her desperate need for him to hold her. She is waved through. Finally.

She can feel her heart racing full tilt in her chest as she approaches the exit. She can't remember the last time she has been this nervous. She is about to see him.

He is about to see the woman who holds his heart, indeed, his whole life, in her hands. He watches the glass doors in front of him like a hawk, waiting to catch the first glimpse of her. His plan had been to arrive back in DC before her so that he can sort a few things out in order to help her transition back to her life here. Unfortunately, he was asked to stay back another two days to debrief and train the person who would take his place in the ongoing negotiations with the tribal elders.

As a result, he reached home a mere three hours before her flight was due to arrive. He was disappointed to find that Jessica has taken Jack to visit her parents for a few days, but is pragmatic enough to know that if his son had been home, he would have been torn between spending time Jack and being with her. He knows that he would not have been able to trust another person to make sure that she is fine, not even JJ. He has to be able to see for himself. So he gives Jack a call, bemused when his son cuts the conversation short as his grandparents are about to take him to a local petting zoo.

Next he speaks to JJ about finding accommodation, only to be told that it was in the works, but that in the meantime a short-term lease has been entered into for an apartment a few miles from Quantico and his own home. He has the fastest shower in history, not bothering to shave. He then makes a quick run to the grocery store to pick up a few items, mostly essentials like bread, milk and eggs. He doesn't want to be bothered with such things after she arrives. Just as he is about pay, he notices the colourful flowers on display near the checkout and impulsively grabs a bunch.

This is what he is holding in his right hand. An elderly lady walking past looks at him with a slight look of trepidation until she sees the flowers. She smiles at him then before moving on and he winces inwardly. He must look ridiculous holding the bunch of flowers. He isn't the romantic sort. In fact, he can't even recall the last time he bought flowers for someone, and he suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious.

But then he sees her and suddenly nothing else matters. He surges forward, weaving through the crowd. He recognises the exact moment she sees him. Her eyes light up and the most beautiful smile he has ever seen graces her lips. A moment later they are standing face to face, staring at each other. He reaches out slowly and touches her cheek, hoping that he is not dreaming. That she is really here in front of him. She looks luminous, her skin almost glowing as if she is lit from within. Her skin is soft and petal smooth under his fingertips. She feels real. Maybe this isn't a dream. Something inside him suddenly snaps and he reaches out and jerks her towards him, his arms locking tightly around her. The flowers fall, forgotten, to the ground.

Her arms slip around him, and her palms press into his back, holding him equally tightly. He breathes in deeply, the soft floral scent that had haunted endless dreams once again real in his nostrils. My love, he thinks. Or maybe he has uttered it out loud because he hears her draw in a sharp breath, her arms tightening around him. She feels different to him for some reason, but he is unable to put a finger on why, and he doesn't really care anyway. He pushes the thought out of his head, not wanting anything to interfere with this moment that he has imagined for the last five months. It is a long, long time before he releases his over-zealously tight grip on her, and when he manages to unlock his arms from around her, he does so reluctantly.

When he sees her face again, her midnight dark eyes are awash with emotion. She says his name. Her voice is husky and low, and he is unable to help himself. He lowers his head and captures her mouth with his. She tastes exactly as he remembers and although he is tempted to deepen the kiss, he doesn't. He remembers the first kiss they had shared, the awkwardness and desperation behind it. That is why he keeps this kiss gentle, trying as best he can to inject all the love and tenderness he feels for her into it.

Their lips finally part, but their faces stay close together. People mill everywhere around them hugging and laughing and crying. But they don't notice. So intent are they on one another that the world could disappear and they would not even blink an eye.

"Hey." Her voice is soft, but he hears her. He will always hear her. Even if his ears fail him, he would still hear her with his heart.

"Hey." He reaches out and smoothes her hair back from her face. It is shorter now, in a bob that sits just below the collar of her linen fuchsia blouse. The bright colour suits her, although it seems a little large for her slight frame. "You look good." He shakes his head. "No, I take that back. You look beautiful."

She smiles. "Thank you." But as she continues to gaze at him, her smile fades. "You're too thin. Haven't you been eating?" She pulls her arms away from his waist and cups his beard-roughened cheeks, worry reflecting on her face.

"I haven't had much of an appetite," he replies. This is an understatement. He has not felt like eating ever since they had parted. The fact that he misses her so much that it is unbearable at times, combined with the back breaking schedule and the heat while he was on the task force in Pakistan, has contributed to his weight loss. "I'm okay," he reassures her, seeing the concern in her eyes. He tries to change the subject. "You haven't said anything about the beard."

"I love it." Her thumbs stroke his beard around the corners of his mouth and her gaze drops to his lips. "Although kissing you is probably going to get some getting used to."

He stifles a groan when he sees her eyes darken. "Emily," he warns. They have been apart for months and it is all he can do not to sling her over his shoulder and carry her out of the airport, into the SUV and then into his bed. Everything else be damned.

"I'm sorry, but you're just such a distraction." Her eyes meet his again and she smiles. She is silent for a while and then she licks her lips. She appears unsure, almost nervous.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He feels his pulse rate pick up when a shadow of anxiety appears in her eyes, creasing her normally smooth brow.

Her mouth parts, as if she is about to answer, but no sound emits. She doesn't break eye contact with him.

He is really worried now. Something must be wrong. Something that she isn't able to put into words. But before he can ask her again, she pulls away slightly, putting some space between their bodies, which till now, had been resting against each other. He stares at her when she takes his left hand and places it on her abdomen. He is confused. What is she trying to tell him?

She holds her breath as she observes him looking down at the hand which she has pressed against her, just under her belly button. She can tell that his mind is working fast, trying to decipher what she's trying to tell him. It takes him only a handful of seconds, although to her, it feels like an eternity. His eyes shoot up to hers and the colour drains from his face. He stares at her in shock, and she has to work hard to keep the trepidation off her face. She is so afraid that he will reject their child. She isn't sure she can bear it if he does.

"Emily? Are…are you – " He swallows hard, unable to finish his sentence. There is apprehension in his eyes.

"Yes. I'm going to have a baby. Our baby." Her voice is barely above a whisper and she wonders if he has heard her; it is so noisy around them. Why did she not wait to tell him in a more appropriate setting?

His eyes drop back down to her stomach, and his hand moves over her, a gentle caress of the fragile life within her. His face softens and she stares in wonder as he drops down to one knee, putting his mouth against the slight swell of her belly. "Hello, little one. It's me. It's your daddy."

She feels a small flutter deep within her, fragile as butterfly wings. The baby hears him. Tears fill her eyes at the overwhelming tenderness in his voice. He presses a kiss against the spot where their child lies, then, still remaining on his knee, his hands gripping her waist, he leans his forehead against her abdomen for a long while. When he finally stands back up, her breath catches in her throat at the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Are you all right?" He looks at her, frowning slightly. "The pregnancy..."

"I'm fine."

Someone jostles her elbow and he immediately puts his hand on her arm, drawing her close to him protectively. "Let's get out of here."

She nods. He bends down and her eyebrows raise when he straightens up, a bunch of flowers in his hand. There is a slightly sheepish look on his face as he hands them to her. She can't help laughing at the contrast between the menacing looking man dressed all in black and the pale pink gerberas clutched in his hand.

"If that's what I get for attempting a romantic gesture, there will definitely be no repeat of this." A look of chagrin adorns his face.

"No, no, it's just that you look so dangerous with that beard and your clothes and then the pink flowers. You're adorable." She reaches up and kisses him on his cheek, his beard soft under her lips. "And I love the flowers. Thank you."

"Hmm..." He looks only partially mollified. He grabs hold of her luggage with one hand and takes her hand in another. "Ready?"

"Absolutely."

They walked towards the multi-storey parking garage. "JJ tells me that she has arranged a temporary apartment for you. I can take you there if you like, but I was hoping that you might like to come to my place instead. What would you prefer?"

She looks at him. What she prefers is to be able to stay with him. Permanently. But that is probably too much too soon. Despite the undeniable fact that she is carrying his baby, the eighteen hours they spent together is not a basis for a permanent commitment. But that doesn't stop her body from aching for his touch. "I'd like to stay with you for while, if that's okay."

They stopped in front of the elevator. "To be completely honest, I don't think I'm going to be able to let you out of my sight for, I don't know, at least a month." He gave her a wry smile. "I didn't know when or if I was ever going to see you again. And now you're here, carrying our child ..." His gaze flicks down to her belly, then back up, eyes turbulent with emotions. "I don't know if I can let you go. Let you both go."

She wants to tell him that he never has to let them go. But he continues before she can utter the words.

"I know you're an independent person, Emily. You're one of the strongest people I know. But I just..." He paused, looking intently into her eyes. "I just want to take you home and take care of you. I want to make sure you're always safe and happy. I want to sit on the porch and watch our children squeal and play, become annoying teenagers, and ultimately into amazing adults because I know what an incredible mother you will be. I want to be able to share with you the laughter and the tears, the joy and the pain, everything that is to come, because my life is completely meaningless without you." His voice softens when he sees the tears running down her cheeks. He gently brushes her tears away with his thumbs. "I want us to grow old together, go on long walks, play bridge and watch our grandchildren have food fights in our kitchen. And when the time comes, I want to leave this world holding your hand, knowing that I am leaving with no regrets because I have had you in my life."

She is openly sobbing now and he cradles her face in his palms. "I love you, Emily. I don't want to wait for the right moment to tell you. I don't want to waste any more time when I know that you are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with." He places his left hand on her stomach. "The person I want to be the mother of my children. He swallows hard. "Will you marry me?"

She stares at him, stunned. For a moment she wonders if she is dreaming. The joy within her blossoms until new tears fill her eyes. She has always known that this is a man that any woman would feel privileged to have as a mate. A gentle loving man that not many people have the privilege to see. And now he is hers. Just as she is his, body, heart and soul.

When she doesn't reply, he blurts out, "I know this is all too soon and I've completely overwhelmed you, but – "

She places her fingers on his mouth, stopping him mid-sentence. "I love you, Aaron." Her voice is unsteady, but she doesn't care, because she can see the anxiety fade from his eyes as she continues to speak. "I think I've loved you for a very long time but I could never admit it to myself. And then we had that night in Paris and suddenly everything became clear." She drew a shuddering breath. "It's been so hard these last few months without you, especially after I found out that I was pregnant. I've been scared and lonely and I've missed you so much that it hurt." She smiles tremulously through her tears when his arms tighten involuntarily around her. "So no, this isn't too soon because I've been waiting for you all my life." She licks her lips, knowing that the next few words she utters will be among the most important in her life. "You are my one true love, Aaron Hotchner. I would be honoured to be your wife."

Joy blazes across his face and he closes his eyes for a brief moment before bending down and claiming her mouth with his in a kiss so joyous and reverent that she knows she will never forget this moment as long a she lives. As she surrenders herself to his kiss, only one thought resounds in her mind.

She is finally home.

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