Author's Note: I've recently gotten really into the show Rizzoli & Isles. So into it, in fact, that I would even call it my new favorite show. So when I watched the episode 'Living Proof' (2x02) and this plot line (for Criminal Minds) popped into my head, I just couldn't ignore it! I sincerely hope you enjoy this story; it was a joy to write!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Casandra, this one's for you. (Again.) ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

Looking back on the entire situation, Emily realized she had been incredibly stupid. Her decisions had been reckless; her mistakes had been those of a rookie.

Their case had been a bad one, a strange one; strange in the sense that everything seemed to go wrong. Details of the past couple days came flashing before her eyes now; the young woman who had been stabbed to death, the thirty-four month old baby they had managed to pull out of her womb and save before his mother's organs completely failed, the realization that the deceased woman had been a surrogate, and that the premature baby was up for adoption.

Later, they had headed to the adoption agency, which is where the first major red flag was raised. The lead doctor, an uneasy man by the name of James Crosier, didn't recognize the surrogate, Erin Braxton; the young woman who was now dead, murdered. Perhaps by the husband she seemed to be hiding from; the husband who had no idea she was eight months pregnant. It was quickly determined that he was not the unsub; much too quickly, in Emily's opinion. Sure, he had an ailibi, and it was a good one; being on a boat in the middle of the ocean for half a year was quite the good excuse. But there was just something missing.

Something was off.

Led to a family with the surname Cornell by the agency's receptionist, a spry young woman named Catherine who was pregnant herself, the team had been shocked when they heard the husband and wife express their sadness at the fact that Dr. Crosier had told them that Erin miscarried. Even more disconcerting had been the desperate way by which the Cornells had broken down and cried when Emily told them that their child was, in fact, very much alive.

But that wasn't the end of the eminent confusion. Another family, the Hadleys had called the FBI hotline in a fit of desperation, claiming that the baby John Doe was their child; not the Cornells'. Through much interrogation at the hands of Rossi and JJ, the team of seven learned that the Hadleys had gone through a fertilization clinic and adoption company named Dream Babies, whose chief lawyer in charge of family arrangements and payment installments was a man named Evan Dempsey.

Only someone with the skill set of Penelope Garcia would have been able to determine that Dr. Crosier and Evan Dempsey were one and the same.

The complications didn't stop there. Evaluations by both Hotch and the local chief medical examiner concluded that Erin's murder had been personal, in contempt; their unsub had been angry.

Emily couldn't help but feel bad for Reid. Still on crutches, he had been resigned to remaining cooped up in the police department to go through hours and hours of security footage. So Emily, desperate to break the case, sat down beside him; and together, they scoured the black and white images for something, anything.

They found their saving grace in the form of a single photo; a photo of Erin and Dr. Crosier. The good doctor had known her; he had recognized her, contrary to what he had told both Morgan and Emily when they had paid the agency a visit. They had known each other, alright.

For they had been lovers.

Lovers. The revelation sounded crazy, like something straight out of a daytime soap opera. But after doing what she did best, Garcia was able to confirm their working theory. Erin Braxton and James Crosier had indeed been lovers. Garcia showed Hotch the emails the two had sent to one another; they were tender, caring, heartfelt.

They gave Erin's husband, Thomas, a thousand motives, especially when the team discovered an anonymous email sent to his account containing a single picture; a picture of Erin, obviously pregnant.

Emily had been ready to give up. The case was going nowhere; the lies surrounding the entire ordeal seemed never-ending. And with every day that passed, Emily fell more and more in love with little baby John Doe. She couldn't help it; her mothering instinct was stronger now than it had ever been. And everything was going wrong. Their strongest lead, the absent husband with the motive and means, had fallen short; while he'd had access to an emergency speed boat that could have taken him to Erin and back in a little over nine hours, the man was innocent. Innocent, and completely in love with his wife.

Everything seemed to happen at once. The husband was out of the picture. Dr. Crosier was dead. The baby, sweet little John Doe, belonged to the Cornells; Reid had determined as such after going through Crosier's voice messages.

It was Morgan who broke the case; at least, that's what the now weary and overworked BAU believed at the time. He had insisted they look deeper into Marcus and Nancy Cornell, into the fertility clinic they had chosen.

They did. And what they found shocked Emily more than any other part of the case. Someone had been helping herself to Marcus Cornell's sperm; someone familiar. That someone had tried to get pregnant three times…and all three times, the trials had failed.

That someone was the receptionist of the clinic the Cornells had gone to.

Suddenly, Morgan whirled around and grabbed hold of Emily's arm. "Wait a minute," he said, his eyebrows furrowed together in obvious confusion. "Catherine, the receptionist…the nurse. Wasn't she pregnant at the time? You were the one that pointed it out." There was a long pause. "If all these trials with Marcus Cornell's sperm failed, then how is she pregnant? She looked to be at least six months along."

"Six months," Emily murmured in agreement, her head spinning suddenly. "Six months or more." Their gazes met. "Derek, I don't think she was actually pregnant."

Emily was right. A warrant in hand, Hotch conducted a search of Catherine O'Rourke's apartment, and almost wished he hadn't. What he saw made him sick; the fake pregnancy belly, the nursery that had been prepared for a baby that wasn't rightfully hers, the supply of baby formula Catherine had at the ready. For a moment, Hotch couldn't speak.

Instead, he trusted Emily to speak exactly what he was thinking.

"She went through a lot of effort to make her 'pregnancy' appear real. The fake belly, the crib, the baby-proofed rooms…she wanted to make sure no one suspected anything when she appeared with a baby one day." Emily's eyes flashed bitterly. "When she appeared with baby John Doe."

Hotch nodded, giving Emily's shoulder a consoling squeeze when he was sure no one was watching. "Don't worry. We've got her."

But they didn't, not yet.

Just as things had been all throughout the case, the moment they knocked one hurdle down, another came up; and another and another and another. Their profile ended up being off by a long shot, and while they recovered skillfully and determined who their true unsub was with relative ease, they became too comfortable. It was their tragic flaw; it was how they ended up in the predicament they were currently in. One moment everything had been running smoothly…

…and the next moment, chaos reigned. Guns were drawn, people screamed, a glinting sharp scalpel was stabbed into the air, inches from Emily's face.

~.~.~

"I want eyes on that baby at all times, do you understand me?"

Hotch's command still rung loudly in Emily's ears, even as she lifted a fussing baby John Doe into her arms. The NICU was strangely quiet, but Emily didn't notice; not when the newborn she was holding began to squirm. A little whine permeated the too still air.

"Shhh," Emily soothed, situating herself in a nearby rocking chair. "It's okay, baby." She smiled. "My, you're a handsome little boy. Your parents, they're really nice people. I know they already love you so much." Inside, a part of Emily mourned the fact that they baby, born barely over seventy-two hours beforehand, was already at the center of so much disaster and heartbreak. She hoped everything would be better soon; she hoped baby John Doe would grow to be a happy young man.

A sharp knock on the window pulled Emily from her thoughts. She smiled widely when she saw just who it was.

"Let's go say hi to Aaron," Emily cooed, her head still bent over the newborn when she opened the door to let Hotch in. "Hey. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he assured, and he let a smile touch his lips when the baby wiggled curiously in Emily's embrace, searching for the source of the new voice. "I just wanted to check on you - I mean, on the baby."

"You didn't think I could take care of things myself?" Emily teased, her eyes bright.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Emily Prentiss," he rebuked playfully, closing the distance between them. Comfortable silence managed to lapse between them before Hotch spoke once more. "You look good."

His quiet rumbling voice caught her right around the heart. "Hmmm?"

"With the baby," he clarified. "You look good. You look...happy."

Emily rewarded him with her prettiest smile. "Do you want to feed him? Poor boy is hungry." She motioned to the bottle of warm milk she had strategically placed beside the rocking chair. "It would calm you down..."

"In a second," Hotch murmured. "Excuse me," he said instead, calling out to a young, frail-looking nurse Emily hadn't even realized was in the room with them. Her back was toward them. "Can you call your head of security, please? I need to speak with him."

The nurse didn't turn to face them, nor did she speak. She simply nodded, and scuttled awkwardly to the furthermost door.

"Alright. Go ahead and hold him while you tell me what's going on." Emily's heart skipped a beat at the image presented before her. She imagined this was how it had been with Jack; with Hotch looking so reverently at the blue-wrapped, wrinkly bundle she had placed in his arms.

Emily couldn't help it; glancing around them carefully, she leaned in and stole a quick kiss, effectively catching him off guard.

"Emily -"

"Relax," she murmured. "No one saw us but the baby. I...couldn't help myself," she admitted sheepishly. "You looked so...peaceful. You've been so uptight lately, so it was a nice contrast."

"It's this case," Hotch sighed. "I just want this baby to be safe." He touched John Doe's little button nose. "That's why I stopped by. I know you're more than capable of handling this by yourself. You've proven that too many times to count."

"Aaron, really," Emily said softly. Their strikingly similar gazes met, and Hotch had the overwhelming urge to kiss her once more. "Really. You don't have to explain yourself. I understand just what you mean. I was just teasing you. In fact, I -"

Emily was still talking when they both noticed it; at the same time. The previously pristine white tile floor was now marred by a smear of dark red blood...in the shape of a half footprint. He wasn't surprised one bit when he saw a similar smear on the bottom of the nurse's shoe.

Immediately, his guard was up. "Emily," he said lowly, and he could practically feel the temperature of the air drop at least ten degrees. "Take the baby."

But he was too late. The nurse - who Hotch immediately recognized as none other than their unsub, Catherine O'Rourke - whirled around to face them, wielding a sharp and gleaming scalpel in her dominant hand. "Give me the baby," she demanded, her eyes wild. "Give me the baby!"

A gasp was torn from Emily's throat; and before she could contemplate thinking rationally, she had darted in front of Hotch and the newborn he was holding. She placed herself between their unsub and her boss without a second's hesitation. And she didn't move; because she knew, there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect the love of her life. "Please - please don't hurt this baby," she begged. She hadn't meant to sound so desperate, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want little John Doe to be at the center of even more trouble.

Meanwhile, Hotch was struggling to keep his temper in check. What the hell was she doing? Compromising her safety, reacting so recklessly...for what? She was a trained agent, for God's sake! One of the best! "Emily, don't -"

But there was no stopping her. "His parents wanted him so badly," she said, meeting Catherine's gaze. Breathe, Prentiss. Breathe.

"They're not his parents," Catherine yelled back at her, her eyes wild. "I am his mother."

"You used your egg," Emily said understandingly, "and Marcus Cornell's sperm. And you watched that baby grow in Erin Braxton's womb. That must have been painful to experience; I get that."

"I would've paid her! I would've paid her however much she wanted!"

"But she didn't want your money." Hotch's terrifyingly cool voice practically made Emily jump out of her skin. "She wanted the Cornells to have this baby; we know that because of the voicemail she left on Dr. Crosier's phone." A beat passed. "So that's when you decided to kill Erin and frame her husband."

Catherine shook her head viciously, though both profilers knew what Hotch had just said was the absolute truth. "Give him to me," she commanded, turning toward Hotch this time.

But again, Emily maneuvered between them. "You planned on killing Erin, didn't you? You're smart," she said purposefully, as Catherine moved dangerously closer. "You knew you had three minutes from the time you slit her throat to get that baby out."

Hotch shut his eyes for but a second. "Emily," he warned.

It was at that very moment that baby John Doe burst into hot, angry tears.

"My baby!" Catherine immediately screamed. "I'm his mother!"

Hotch couldn't afford to wait a single second longer. "Emily!" he shouted. He barely had enough time to meet her gaze before he was pressing the baby into her arms and pulling out his gun. "Drop it," he said, his voice dripping with authority as he stared long and hard at Catherine O'Rourke. "Drop that scalpel now! I will shoot you, I swear. Drop it. Do it now!" he roared.

Shocked into silence and submission, Catherine had no choice but to comply.

Hotch barely heard Emily's frantic call of "Get security up to NICU, now!" into a nearby phone; too busy was he with wrestling Catherine's arms into handcuffs behind her back. One thing was for sure, though, as he shoved her against the wall. He wasn't pleased with the way Emily had acted; Emily, who now had baby John Doe back in her arms.

Before passing their unsub to security, Hotch and Emily shared a significant glance that shared volumes about their relationship. They were angry, they were scared, they were very much in love.

But most of all, they needed to talk.

~.~.~

Emily sighed resignedly, eager to get this over with. Their case was closed, anyway; baby John Doe was in the loving arms of Nancy Cornell, right where he belonged. "Before you say a single thing, I know what I did was stupid. And I'm sorry."

"'Sorry'?" Hotch quoted incredulously. "You're sorry you risked your life; sorry that you could have easily been killed?"

"It was a scalpel, Aaron."

"A sharp scalpel. All it would have taken is one confident thrust to your chest and bam! Punctured lung." Hotch was pacing the hallway, his fists clenching and unclenching with each long stride. "Your actions were incredibly reckless. You weren't armed, Emily."

She rolled her eyes. "But you were! Is five years too soon for me to trust that you have my back in the field?"

"I had a baby in my hands, Prentiss. Not a gun; a baby. If O'Rourke had stabbed you, yes, I would have been able to place that baby down, pull out my gun, and shoot her. But it would have been too late!"

But Emily wasn't listening. She knew he had a point; he always did and his points were always infuriatingly right. But she was stubborn. "Oh, so I'm back to Prentiss now, am I?"

Hotch huffed. "Emily -"

"No, I understand. Go ahead, Hotch," she muttered, with more bitterness than she had intended. "Write me up." She folded her arms across her chest. "But you should know: while I am sorry that I made you so nervous with my actions, I am not sorry that I did what I did. I'm not sorry I stepped between you and Catherine O'Rourke, and I am definitely not sorry that my actions bought enough time to guide her away from baby John Doe. I had to protect him, Aaron. I had to protect him, I had to protect our baby -"

She froze, stiffened.

Her lips parted imperceptibly.

Her eyes fell shut.

"Wh-what did you just say?" Hotch murmured.

"I..." Oh, God. "I think you heard me correctly," Emily whispered.

"What do you mean, 'our baby'?" Slowly, Hotch took a step closer to her, his expression soft now. "Emily...are you...are you pregnant?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she reached out to intertwine their fingers, and rested their joined hands against her still taut stomach. It was all the answer he needed; but somehow, Emily managed to nod, all traces of stubbornness and tension gone. "Yes," she breathed against his cheek when he pulled her into a warm hug.

"I'm not going to write you up," he whispered playfully into her ear, his lips brushing against its sensitive shell. Emily was pleased to see a teasing smile flirting at his mouth. "I'm not going to yell at you and tell you that the fact that you're pregnant makes today's spectacle even more nerve-wracking for me. What I am going to do, on the other hand, is put you on desk duty for the rest of your pregnancy."

Emily scoffed. "Please. I'm not even two months along."

"...Okay. Desk duty the moment you hit four months, then."

"You're funny, Aaron Hotchner," she murmured, before leaning into a kiss he willingly gave her. "Really, really funny." The kiss transported them back to a place they both knew all too well. In her mind's eye, Emily saw herself being pressed back into her pillows by a hard male body; her boyfriend's hard male body, Hotch's hard male body. She could practically feel his hands caressing her sensitive skin, memorizing her curves, driving her to the point of insanity. It was thrilling. It was amazing.

"Funny?" Hotch echoed, chuckling to himself. "Emily..." he pulled back to gaze into her eyes, "I'm being serious."

She just smiled. "You're always serious, Mr. Unit Chief. Now come on. Let's go home."

Hotch barely had the time to relish the fact she had called his apartment home before Emily's lips were on his once more.

THE END.

Author's Note: Did you like it? Did you maybe even love it? If you have the time, please leave a review! No matter short or long, signed or anonymous, they always make my day! :) Thank you in advance!