Author's Note: I have been sick for seven days and counting. So we can consider that the 'inspiration' to add another chapter in here. Consider it diversionary fluff, for both you to read, and me to write :)

Picking up that afternoon.

What The Nurse Said

Hotch sat back in the chair to cross his arms and his legs. Ten seconds later he dropped his feet back to the floor.

Then he crossed his legs again.

His fidgeting was interrupted by Emily lightly patting his arm.

"Honey," she rasped, "I know that you want to check on that case, so you can go if you need to go. I'll just catch a cab home when I'm done here."

"What?" he whipped his head around to look over at her. "No," he scowled, "I'm not leaving you here to take a cab home! Don't be ridiculous."

Of course he would never abandon Emily anywhere, and certainly not in the doctor's office when she was SICK!

That said . . . he took a small breath . . . he would begrudgingly acknowledge, (to himself) that she was correct in interpreting his slight antsiness as arising from concern about a certain case.

He was a little worried about the Sheboygan situation.

Specifically, the Sheboygan P.D. had been hunting a serial rapist on their own for the last seven weeks. And then with the BAU's remote assistance over just this past week, they'd finally been able to narrow their suspect list down from all of the metropolitan area, to just three possible candidates. And the locals had been staking out all three of those men for the last eleven hours. Hotch had been expecting an update at two pm from the detective in charge, but there still hadn't been any word when he'd left the office at three.

Of course no news might have been good news . . . there could have been a major break and they were just busy taking the perpetrator's confession . . . but he had no way of knowing that. Nor did he have any way of knowing if they needed any additional assistance. Hotch's gaze drifted over to the large red sign on the wall.

And that was because he'd been in a 'No Cell Phone Zone' for the last thirteen minutes. Hence the antsiness. So he didn't know if Detective Eigenberger might have been trying to call him.

He was hoping not.

And though he would have loved to just run outside for TWO MINUTES to check his messages, Emily really should be getting called up any second. And he was afraid that if he left, he'd miss her getting called in, and by extension completely miss the appointment. And he'd promised her that he'd go in with her.

It was a new doctor that Emily had only been to once before, and she still wasn't sure if she liked him yet or not.

So Hotch was going to observe the man's 'technical skills' and 'bedside manner' . . . aka decide if this doctor was 'qualified' and 'worthy' of the responsibility of taking care of the most important woman on the planet.

But Hotch couldn't make those determinations . . . his internal self-flagellation began to kick up . . . if he was out pacing in the parking lot, yelling into his phone being, "Workaholic Boyfriend!" And of course the previous title held by "Workaholic Boyfriend" had been "Workaholic Husband."

That had been his last title before the divorce.

And when he and Emily had gotten together, the first promise Hotch had made to himself, was to not screw things up with her, the same way that he had with Haley. So if it came down to him to turning off his phone and just sitting his ass DOWN in a chair, to be there for her when she needed him, and right now Emily did need him, then damn it . . . he let out a faintly righteous huff . . . that was what he was going to do!

Though when he saw the object of his internal ruminations now looking over at him with that faint worried little wrinkle in her brow that he knew oh so well, he was thinking that maybe it wasn't quite enough for him to simply make the pronouncement that he was staying, and then JUST sit there with her. He should actually be 'mentally present' with her as well. And anxiously fidgeting in his chair while repeatedly checking the time, clearly was not sending the right message about his desire to be "present" in that moment.

No, it was announcing to the world, "I'd rather be anywhere but here," in that moment.

Which meant that he was kind of being a dick.

So he took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. And when he looked back over at his girl again, he had a small, apologetic, smile on his face.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he whispered while leaning over to press a quick peck to her lips, "you're right. I am a little anxious to find out what's going on with that case, but," he brought his hand up to cup her jaw, "I do want to be here with you. They don't actually need me. I was just waiting to hear how the surveillance went today and, uh," he tipped his head, "well, sometimes it's just hard to shift over to normal life again." His hand dropped down as he bit down his lip. "You know?"

That was one of the great differences, and truly, advantages, of their relationship. Emily understood the job, and how it got under your skin. Haley never did.

She never could.

"Yeah," Emily's eyes crinkled, "I know it's hard. But," she sniffled into her Kleenex, "I appreciate you trying. And really Aaron," she patted his leg, "if you want to go check your messages just for peace of mind, I'll be fine." Her lip quirked up. "I'm a big girl. I can go in by myself. And you can meet Doctor Rozinsky some other day."

It was already somewhat miraculous that Hotch had chosen to leave work two HOURS early to take her to the appointment himself (she could have driven in a pinch), and agree to go in with her to meet the doctor. That was certainly enough of an, "I Really Love You, and I Do Put You First," gold star demonstration for one day. So if he needed to do a quick voicemail check just to keep from stress bursting that little vessel in his left temple, that was of course more than fine with her.

But then she saw him shaking his head.

"No," he then responded softly, while leaning over to slip his arm around her shoulders, "I'm staying right here. Eigenberger has JJ's number too, so if they need another consult, she can always get Rossi for him. So," he gave another pat to her shoulder in order to shift gears, "how's your throat feeling?"

For a second Emily ignored the question to instead eyeball Hotch to make sure that he wasn't just lying his ass off about the consult thing to make her feel better. But seeing none of his telltale stress quirks in full bloom . . . tension around the mouth, faintly quivering nerve over the left temple . . . she knew he was being sincere. And seeing that he was confident there was sufficient 'consult coverage' in place if it was indeed needed, she let go of her own worries to tip her head over to his shoulder.

"It's still hurting," she croaked back with a faint pout, "a lot."

To which he responded with a kiss to her non-Kleenex hand while murmuring that she'd feel better once she got some good medicine. Then he added that he was picking up the chicken soup ingredients on the way home, and he was thinking about maybe stopping to get her some of those peanut butter cookies from that Georgetown bakery too. What did she think about that?

Her eyes crinkled as she snuggled into his side.

"That sounds great," she coughed out.

And so for a few more minutes they just sat there quietly, but then Emily reached over to rub her hand across his stomach.

"You've got some admirers in the corner," she murmured behind her tissue.

Feeling a twinge of amusement, Hotch's gaze subtly shifted up and around the room before his eyes dropped back down to the floor.

"Seven o'clock?"

"Yep," Emily chuckled into her now crumpled Kleenex, "they've been staring at you off and on since we sat down. Now they're not even pretending to do anything else."

A small group of women, ranging from early thirties to probably mid-forties, were sitting on the left side of the large waiting room, near the reception desk for the OBGYN that shared Rozinsky's office space. Each of the women (two of whom were obviously very pregnant) had a forgotten magazine lying open in their laps. Occasionally of them would whisper something down the line. Then someone else would whisper something back. From Emily's observations, it had been QUITE obvious that Hotch was the topic of all whispering to date!

One of them had even snapped his picture with her cell phone!

"Well," Hotch whispered with a kiss to Emily's cheek, "I am devastatingly handsome."

"Ha!" Emily half chuckled, half snorted, "you jest, but," she shot him a quick grin, "you really, really are."

It was just as he was shooting her a wink back, that Emily heard the nurse call her name.

"Ms. Prentiss."

"Oh, here," Emily croaked out while clumsily waving her tissue hand as Hotch helped her to her feet, "right here."

And then the nurse waited patiently at the open door, while Hotch walked her across the room.

Seeing the questioning look coming from the scrubs clad woman, Emily just patted his stomach again.

"He's the one taking care of me."

Then from behind them, Emily immediately heard the stage whispered, "he can take care of me any day." Followed immediately by a, "I heard that," and she couldn't help herself.

She burst out laughing.

Fortunately (and that was "fortunately" being used here with the SADDEST definition imaginable) the ill-timed laughter was covered up by her morphing into the now standard 'spastic coughing' which had developed that morning.

Yay!

So with Emily once again hacking up her entire respiratory system, while doubled over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hotch (as he had every other time he'd been present for this display) immediately took control of the situation. This time he scooped her up and carried her through the open doorway.

From over her death thralls, Emily heard the nurse saying, "just ahead." And then her feet were back on the carpet, and two seconds later, a tiny paper cup was being shoved into her hand.

"Drink this sweetheart."

So she drank. One . . . two . . . three . . . FOUR, Dixie cups of water, one after another. It wasn't until after the fourth one, with her shirt now visibly soaked and water still dribbling down her chin (classy), that she was finally able to suck in a decent breath again.

And when she looked up, with her eyes watering and her nose running, Emily realized that she'd drawn a crowd of fairly concerned, medical professionals.

There were four pairs of scrubs standing around her.

Including the new doctor that she wanted Hotch to meet.

Good timing!

"Dr. Rozinsky," she coughed out, "good afternoon."

"Ms. Prentiss," the doctor responded with a dry concern while simultaneously popping out a pen light to begin checking her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Uh yeah," she blinked into the mini spotlight, "it was just that cough that I was here for anyway. It kind of, uh," she sheepishly wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, "got away from me there."

Understatement. Of. The. Year.

"Ah," he pulled the light back with a snap, "all right then. At least you didn't blow a vessel in your eye." Then his gaze shifted over to one of the nurses.

"So let's get Ms. Prentiss set up in exam three. I'll be along in a few minutes," his attention shifted back to Emily as he gestured over his shoulder, "I was just finishing up with another patient."

"All right," she barked another cough, "thank you doctor."

And when he turned and started back down the corridor, she lifted her hand to point towards his back.

"That was Dr. Rozinsky," she croaked out to Hotch with a little smile.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I got that." Then he gave her a good natured head shake.

"Oh Emily, you are uh," he reached over to pick up the end of her shirt . . . he started to wring it out, "soaked."

And feeling just how soaked she really was . . . VERY . . . he looked over at the nurse.

"Is there a hand dryer back here?"

Basically about half of the water Emily had tried to swallow down, she'd just coughed back out again. If her overcoat hadn't been unbuttoned then that probably would have been fine. The droplets would have repelled off the wool. But as it was, most of her front was drenched down to her skin.

And in her condition she had no business walking around in wet clothing.

And he could see the nurse looking down at Emily's shirt, and then up to Emily sniffling into a fresh tissue . . . she'd just pulled it from her pants pocket . . . and then finally over to him again.

"Yes," she turned and pointed, "the main bathroom. Two doors down on the left side of the hall." Then she gestured a little further down the corridor. "And after she cleans up, you can go straight down to exam three at the end of the hall. The number's on the door. Oh wait though," she turned back around and gestured to the scale a few feet away from the reception desk, "let's just quickly do the height and weight before you go."

So Hotch helped Emily off with her sneakers and coat and she walked over and climbed on.

A moment later, after the nurse had finished doing her calculations, and Emily found out that she'd gained a half a pound since her last visit, she turned to shoot a scowl at Hotch.

"That's your fault!"

And when he sputtered out a, "what did I do?" she started counting off on her fingers all of the liquids that he'd made her drink that day. And though she could see his jaw immediately drop like he was about to counter her statement with some retort, a split second later it snapped shut again. Then his eyes crinkled as he stooped down to help her into her sneakers again.

"You're right," he nodded contritely as she balanced herself with a hand on his back, "that half a pound is very likely my fault. I did give you a lot of liquids," he began tightening the lace on her sneaker, "and that would definitely cause some fluid retention. I apologize."

As he straightened up, Hotch noticed the nurse was staring at him with a big grin.

"What?" He asked a bit self consciously, and she started to chuckle.

"Just wondering where I could get one of you for personal use." Then she turned to Emily with a little smile.

"You're a lucky lady. And," she gestured down the hall as she started to walk back to the reception desk, "you're all set if you want to get cleaned up."

The last she added with an amused jerk of her head off to the left, just before she turned to start jotting her notes down in Emily's chart.

And seeing that they had been effectively 'dismissed,' after checking Emily's other shoelace (then retying it just for good measure) Hotch put his hand on Emily's shoulder, and started walking them down the hall.

Emily was already sneezing into a fresh tissue.

Fortunately it took only a moment to find the bathroom. And as they stepped through the doorway, Hotch was pleased to see that it was a handicap accessible room.

Which meant that they had more than 'stall size' space to move around.

And knowing that the doctor would be looking for them soon, he tried to make fast work of Emily's wardrobe issues by helping her to quickly get off her coat and her shirt. Then, seeing her standing there shivering in just her bra, he wrapped her back up in the overcoat again. Then he smacked a quick kiss on her forehead before he moved on to the reason they were in the bathroom to begin with.

Getting her shirt dried.

Except . . . his plan really wasn't working that well. Yes, there was a hand dryer on the wall, but the shirt was just too wet, and the nozzle was just too small, for it to do much good. He'd have to stand there for twenty minutes to get the damn thing dried out.

And they didn't have that kind of time.

"Okay," he gave up with a sigh as he turned around and dropped the red turtleneck into the sink, "this isn't working. So let's just go with Plan B."

"What's . . .?"

Emily didn't have a chance to get the question out, before she saw that Hotch was taking off his coat.

He hung it on the back of the door.

Two seconds later his suit jacket had joined the coat . . . and then his tie joined the jacket . . . and then he was unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Emily's eyes crinkled as he started sliding the first sleeve down from his shoulder.

"You are literally giving me the shirt off your back," her lower lip popped out as she sniffled into her tissue, "that's so romantic."

All right, that was sort of a cheesy thing to say out loud. And maybe it was partly born of the half gallon of cold medicine she'd sucked down that day, but still, she was standing by the thought.

It was totally romantic!

"Yes, well," Hotch held the shirt up, "you need something dry to put on." His lip quirked up, "and I have something dry to spare. So," he made a little gesture, "coat off, arms out."

Emily immediately did as instructed, quickly tossing her coat over the sink so Hotch could help her slip into his dress shirt. Of course it was entirely too big for her, but after he'd rolled the sleeves up, he buttoned it three quarters of the way down, and tied off the loose ends around her waist.

"There," he stepped back to look down at her, "good enough."

And as he turned, now in only his t-shirt, to get down his suit jacket again, Emily turned to look at herself in the mirror.

"Aww," she bit her lip, "you even made it look nice."

When Hotch turned around, and their eyes caught in the reflection of the mirror, she gave him a little smile.

"You are the best boyfriend and I love you," with both hands she mimed a giant heart covering over her whole chest, "this much."

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"Thank you for that," he said while leaning down. Then he continued with a mumbled kiss against her lips, "but I still love you more."

Then he pulled away with a dimple and a wink. A dual action that made Emily feel a bit flush in the face and weak in the knees . . . and she was pretty sure that reaction had nothing to do with the rhinovirus currently ravaging her body.

And as he went back to pulling himself together again, she thought back to the nurse's comment . . . and how far they'd come in just a few months. And when he turned to straighten out his lapel in the mirror, she found herself reaching out to catch his arm.

Yep . . . she pulled him down into another kiss . . . she was a lucky, lucky gal!

A/N 2: Again, fluff. I have been working on some other things. Hoping to get a chapter of Something Wicked up this month. For one thing, it's almost done, and for another, Halloween is coming. And shockingly enough, over five plus years I've NEVER managed to post anything creepy or scary around Halloween. It would be a small victory, but without the small victories, what else do we have really? :)

Oh, and side point to that, Kavi and I are still are running our prompts forum (now a Tumblr) and if anyone is interested, the Halloween prompts will be going up this week.

I think this will be the last chapter for this story, so I'll close it out for now. The universe is still open though, if I get another idea for them.

Thanks everyone!