"Jack," the brown eyed woman sighed, hearing his door slam from the second floor. "How many times do I have to tell you not to slam your door?" she bellowed, shaking her head.
The BAU chief mimicked his wife's strained smile from his spot in the kitchen doorway. "I told you we could ground him."
Emily's head shook. "For slamming a door?"
"He'll stop," Hotch shrugged.
"We'll have nothing to threaten him with when he actually breaks the rules," she struck back.
Hearing the thundering steps plundering down the stairs both parents turned to see the teenage boy barreling down toward them.
"Whoa!" Emil yelled, holding out her hands to stop her son from falling down the last few steps and onto his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she breathed, catching him in her arms. "Do you want to break your arm again?"
Jack shrugged out of his mother's hold and ran to get his shoes. "I'm late!"
His father smiled, hearing his daughter's laughter from the playroom across the hall. "If you're hurrying and you crash the car, I'll kill you."
"I know!" the teen rushed out, picking up his bag from the foot of the coat rack.
"Zip up," Emily yelled after him, standing in the doorway as Jack raced out to the SUV. "Your boyfriend isn't going to want to kiss you if your nose is running!"
She watched the sandy haired boy hop into the driver's seat before backing out of the driveway, and she slowly closed the door.
Hotch sat himself down and set his gun on the coffee table, glancing into the den to make sure his daughter was alright. "You're not helping his nerves, you know," he laughed.
"Well knowing his parents he should be nervous," the brunette said with a smile. She walked back into the living room and leaned on the back of the couch where her husband sat. "You've already got your gun out."
Hotch slowly nodded his head, focused on the handle of his glock."Well I don't just want to whip it out when he walks through the door. That would scare the poor boy." Finally turning his attention to his wife, Hotch laughed. "And I'm not the one who moved my degrees and awards out into the living room from my office."
Emily grinned. "You can scare him with your gun, I can scare him with my brain and a few awards from the bureau for my cases and combat MVP."
"I can scare him with my brain too, you know."
The mother of two exaggerated her pout for the older man as she leaned in to give him a kiss. "And I can scare him with my gun, but we only want to intimidate Jack's boyfriend, not make him piss his pants."
Hotch paused for a moment. "We don't want that?"
Emily's laugh was cut off by their daughter's feet clamoring on the wooden floors. She made her way around the couch and quickly picked up the laughing girl, tickling her stomach until she was kicking her legs.
"Mommy no!"
The brown eyed woman stopped kissing her daughter's cheek and pulled back the smallest inch to look down to the five year old. "No?"
Grace shook her head, her dark locks swinging before her eyes as she did so.
Hotch came up behind the pair and kissed his daughter at the crown of her head. "All of a sudden you don't want mommy's tickles?"
The young brunette girl waved her parents to bring their heads closer. She completely disregarded their laughter as she gently tugged on their ears to make sure they were listening. "Last time I peeded, mommy. No tickles."
"Ok," Emily snorted, raking her fingers through her daughter's hair. "No tickles."
Grace let out a small laugh when her father pressed a kiss to her cheek, and she gently swatted at Emily's chest for her to let her down.
"Baby, go clean up your toys."
The brunette girl was already off toward the den. "No!"
Rolling her eyes, Emily smothered her smile as her husband wrapped his arms around her waist and peppered small kisses along her jawline. "She gets that from you," she smirked.
"Does not," the older man countered.
"Does too."
Hotch leaned away from the brunette woman in his arms and watched with a smile as she did her best not to let her laughter bubble over. "Why don't we say she picked everything up from Jack?"
She let her fingers grasp the material of her husband's shirt as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "And where did Jack pick it up?"
Their eyes met and they shared a grin. A resounding "Morgan" echoed around their living room.
Quickly stepping away from the older man Emily looked toward the front door. "Is he back already?" she asked, peering through the window when she heard a car drive up to their garage.
Hotch left his wife's side and hurried back to his place on the couch, taking the rag he had been using to clean his glock in his hand.
"Get your gun," Emily chided softly, hearing her son's key jangling in the lock on the front door. She took her place behind her husband on the couch, one hand on the edge of the sofa and one down by her side.
"Get your gun," the older man mimicked, wincing at the small smack to the back of the head as the door opened.
Jack's shoulder immediately sunk, watching as his parents smiled their bright smiles over to him and his boyfriend. Noticing the plaques his mother had plastered all over the walls and the glock in his father's hands, he sighed. "Chris," he breathed, noticing his father standing from the couch, "these are my parents."