They awoke slowly the next morning, late – well, late for them, around 8, but it was late enough for the sun to peek through the blinds, giving the room a soft glow. Hotch woke up first and for a moment or two he took in his surroundings, and then he remembered – he was with his sweet Emily, curled up with her in bed, and last night had been beyond amazing. She lie next to him on her back, sort of angled towards him, with her right leg on top of his left and her cold toes pressed against his shin. His arm was stiff, as her head was resting on his shoulder, and probably had been all night. The covers were tucked around her chin, and her nose was pressed against his neck.

Hotch stretched his legs as best he could without waking her, and then he softly placed his free hand on her belly. He'd done this many times before, of course, but it was different now that he could just touch bare skin. It meant more to him somehow – it added to the fact that she was his, she wanted to be his.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her this yet, but Hotch was already fairly certain that he loved Emily as much as he'd ever loved Hayley – although it was a different love, a more mature one. He knew who he was now, unlike when he and Hayley had started dating in high school and he didn't even know what he wanted to study in college. The quiet, goofy fifteen-year-old he'd been back then had turned into a stoic, tough-as-nails FBI profiler, and that wasn't something that Hayley had been prepared for. She didn't understand his career and she didn't really approve of it – she'd needed someone who would be around most of the time, and he hadn't been able to provide that, which was what ended their marriage.

Emily was sort of like that too – she needed someone to be close to her, to keep her from getting lonely. Fortunately stoic, tough-as-nails FBI profiler Hotch was the only Hotch Emily had ever known, and she knew and understood his career maybe better than he did, and yeah, he still travelled a lot, but she was almost always with him. The job couldn't get between him and Emily, because the job was him and Emily. It was what they both did, it was what they both knew, and it was something they did together. When the phone rang in the middle of the night, Emily didn't get upset that he was leaving again and she didn't grumble as he flipped the bedside lamp on so he could find his tie and his go-bag. Well, maybe she did grumble a little bit, but it was only because they both had to leave again, and she had to get out of bed and find her go-bag, too, and didn't the serial killers understand that sometimes profilers need their beauty sleep? But then she was out the door with him, on those early, quiet, chilly mornings before the sun was up, with two large mugs of coffee in the center console of the car and Emily curled up with a blanket in his passenger seat, reading him the case details from his phone as he drove them in.

He didn't want to jinx it or anything, but that sounded to him like someone he could be with long-term.

A few gentle nudges from Bean brought his mind back to their kids, and to Jack. His incredible son was still the thing he absolutely loved most in the world, and he knew that a lot of other people his age – maybe the men especially – would struggle with accepting their significant other's children from a previous relationship. Emily's pregnancy reminded him of when Hayley was pregnant with Jack, and he was filled with all the fears of becoming a new dad, and the guilt of not being around enough and missing appointments. He realized that he'd probably spent more time with Emily and Bean than he had with Hayley and Jack during her pregnancy, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

What he did know though was that regardless of the fact that Bean wasn't biologically his, she was still sort of his by association.

That was a risk, he knew, of dating at their age – most people had families, and all the baggage that came with it. But at least for him it was a happy risk. Maybe it was because she was still a part of Emily, but God, Hotch already loved Bean more than he ever thought he'd love someone else's kid. In fact, he barely even thought of her as someone else's – she was Emily's, and Emily was his. In Hotch's mind, Doyle was not a part of that equation at all. Bean may not have been at a Jack-level of importance in his life yet, but she was gaining ground quickly. Hotch had struggled to feel connected to Jack during Hayley's pregnancy, as he'd missed most of the scans, and maybe because of that his son just hadn't seemed real to him until he was actually born. And yet here was this other little baby, not even his, and he already had a tiny print-out of her sonogram in his desk drawer and she already knew his voice, liked his voice. He had a connection with her already.

And then there was Declan. Hotch didn't really know Emily's son very well yet, but they'd yet to have a negative interaction. Declan and Jack got along wonderfully – they'd become fast friends, and as far as Hotch was concerned, Declan seemed like a great role model for his son. The boy was kind, intelligent, polite, and courteous. And he never failed to make Emily happy, not even on her worst days. Hotch had seen her brighten up countless times after getting messages from him.

In fact, it was Emily's love for Declan that helped convince Hotch that treating Jack as her own wouldn't be a problem for her. Sometimes he had to remind himself that Emily hadn't really birthed Declan herself, nor had she even raised him from birth. She'd sort of just acquired him like they'd "acquired" Ketshie yesterday. It was a testimony to how big Emily's heart was that she'd been sent to seduce the terrorist dad for a mission, and ended up raising his boy. Hell, the fact that Emily had fallen in love with Doyle even knowing exactly what he was proved that her capacity to love was extraordinary. If she could love a terrorist and his son, and their baby that had been conceived through rape, surely she could love the stoic (maybe slightly uptight) FBI unit chief and his own motherless son, right?

Bean stretched then, and her little foot pressed against Hotch's palm. She kicked a few times, and Emily's eyes fluttered open.

"Feel that?" she mumbled to Hotch when she felt his hand, her face still buried in the crook of his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, caressing the bump, and another familiar wave of paternal pride rushed through him. "She's waking up."

"Guess that means we should, too," Emily said, stretching her own stiff muscles. Her hands went to join Hotch's on her stomach, and she felt her own bare skin, and then she seemed to get a little bit shy as she remembered that they were both still naked.

His eyes crinkled, and he placed a kiss on the bridge of her nose. She smiled, pulling away from him a little, and then she said simply, "Hi."

"Hi," he replied easily, sort of loving how sleepily bashful she looked right now. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"What time is it?" she asked softly, turning her head away from him to look over her shoulder at her alarm clock.

That was when he saw the bruise.

"A little past eight," he said, the guilt sinking in again. "Em, your cheek –"

"– my...?" she began questioningly, but then she remembered. Her fingers went to push on the bruise, and she winced. "How bad is it?"

"It's bad," Hotch replied, noting the deep bluish purple tones across her right cheekbone. He could count four parts that were especially dark, nearly black – one for each of his knuckles. He cursed himself and his stupid bad dreams and of course George Foyet.

"Does it look swollen?" she asked.

"A little," he told her truthfully. There was also a pillow crease down the side of her face, which he thought was quite precious. "That should go down by tonight or tomorrow, though. The bruise will be there for at least a week or two, I'd say."

"That's okay," she replied. "I can cover up a bruise, as long as the swelling goes down. It doesn't hurt," she added in an attempt to reassure him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry. Garcia got me and JJ some really good foundations and concealers and color correcting stuff a while back – remember when that Benjamin Cyrus moron beat me up in that cult? Ever since then she's been supplying us with the stuff. I can cover it. No one will know."

"I'm not so worried about no one knowing," Hotch said softly. "I just feel so terrible that I hurt you –"

" – it's nothing, Aaron, honestly. Just forget it."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

Emily sighed. "It's just my cheek. At least you didn't get me in the eye."

"That's true," he agreed. "Come on, sweetheart. What can I do to make it up to you?"

She thought about it for a second, and then said, "What if we get dressed, and then you could make breakfast?"

His eyes crinkled at her eagerness. "Sure, that'll be a start. What are you hungry for?"

"Bean wants banana pancakes with caramel," she told him with a pat on her belly.

"Alright, then banana pancakes with caramel it is." He got out of bed and pulled some sweatpants on, and then he tossed her an oversized t shirt. She slipped it over her head as he bent down to find her shorts.

God, the muscle tones in his back were incredible ... and then, as he straightened up again, something else caught her eye.

"You have a tattoo?" she asked, eyes crinkling – she'd had no idea that he'd ever been inked.

"Yeah," he told her, almost a bit surprised that she didn't already know that. But she'd have no reason to.

"Let me see," she commanded, walking on her knees over the bed so she could be closer to where he was standing. He turned so that she could look at it. Over his left shoulder blade was a little footprint like you'd see on a birth certificate, just the right size for a newborn's foot. Jack's.

"Did you get that right after he was born?" she asked.

"Yeah," Hotch told her, turning back around. "He was two weeks old, I think."

"That's really sweet," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"How many do you have?" he asked her. "I know I saw a few last night, but I didn't really get a look at them..."

"Three," she said. "But me and JJ are getting matching ones soon. We have an appointment in June."

"What are you guys getting?" he asked, eyes crinkling. He found Emily and JJ's relationship somewhat amusing – it was sweet how close the two of them had grown over the years. They were practically inseparable nowadays, sisters in every way but biological.

"Blackbirds," she told him. "We found this pretty watercolor drawing of one."

"Where are you going to put it?"

"We're thinking on our shoulders, probably."

"Well, I know you have the one on your foot," Hotch mused. He'd seen the little quote there on the inside of her ankle plenty of times, even before they'd started dating – 'So it goes,' it read in a tiny, old-fashioned typewriter font. "Kurt Vonnegut, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Slaughterhouse-Five. I got it right when I turned eighteen; my mother was so pissed," she said almost wistfully, turning her left ankle inward and running a finger over the three little words printed there.

"What's the one on your side?"

"That one is newer," she told him slowly. "Um, I got it, like, a year and a half ago? It says 'Nous sommes à ce que nous prétendons être, donc il faut faire attention à ce que nous prétendons être.'"

Hotch blinked, and he gave her a little smile. "You're adorable and very sexy when you speak French like that, but I have absolutely no idea what any of that meant."

"Vonnegut again," she admitted. "It's from Mother Night."

"Vonnegut in French?" Hotch questioned.

"Yeah..."

"Interesting," he said teasingly, his eyes crinkling.

"How so?"

"Well, he was American, wasn't he? And he wrote in English, which is your first language. You're obviously a big fan, if you've got two of his quotes tattooed on you, and generally people who are passionate about a work of literature don't like the translations. That's because as hard as translators try, reading something in a foreign language just isn't the same as reading it as it was originally written. So why would you translate one of your favorite English quotes from your favorite American author into French for a tattoo?"

"Profilers," she said with a playful roll of her eyes. "It means 'We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be,'" she told him.

"Ah," he said slowly, realizing the significance. It was a Lauren tattoo, then.

Hotch didn't mind things Lauren related – Lauren was a big part of Emily, and he was starting to accept that.

"And the third?" he asked.

"My baby feet," she said, tugging at her shirt collar to reveal the little tattoo just over her heart. A tiny pair of footprints, with two dates above and below: 1986 and 2007, for her two previous pregnancies.

Twenty-one years apart, but they'd both changed her in ways she could never have imagined.

So did Bean, actually.

Hotch didn't say anything, he just looked for a few seconds, and then Emily decided that'd gone on long enough. Her arms snaked around his neck and she kissed him.

"Can we have breakfast now?"

...

"Do you want to stay with me for the weekend?" Hotch asked her as they finished up with doing the dishes – he washed, she dried. "I have to go get Jack soon..." he trailed off at the end, but his meaning was clear – he wasn't quite ready for their time together to be over yet.

"Yeah," she agreed right away, a little smile on her face. "You guys aren't doing anything?"

"Well, Jack has a soccer game later today," he told her, absentmindedly running his fingers over her hand. "You can skip that, if you want –"

"No, I'll go," she told him. "I like watching."

He gave her a smile then, and it made her heart thump faster like it always did. "I'm sure he'll be excited to see you there."

"Good," she said happily. "What time do we have to leave here in order to pick Jack up on time?"

"You wanna come with?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay. We should probably start getting ready now, then. I'll finish putting the dishes away. You can go get in the shower."

She agreed and, with a peck to his jaw, she headed to her bedroom and found some clothes, and started to pack her weekend bag. She smiled when she packed her favorite throw blanket from Hotch – it'd been wrapped around them last night, and it still smelled like him.

She went down the hallway into the bathroom, kicked Sergio out of the basket he'd been curled up in, and pulled out a towel. Then she turned away from the mirror and started to undress.

Bean kicked, and Emily instinctively placed a hand on the bump, out of habit keeping her hand below her bellybutton. The baby kicked again, and Emily remembered last night, how her pale skin had rippled smoothly in front of the mirror with her little one's movements – she wanted to see that again.

But she didn't want to see the scar.

But maybe... maybe it really wasn't so bad as she always assumed it was. Aaron had even told her it was beautiful.

That was probably generous, but...

Bean kicked again. Emily bit her lip, considering looking down or turning to glance at herself in the mirror, but in the end she chickened out and decided to just hurry up and shower.

The baby was still kicking like crazy a few minutes later when she'd finished. Emily stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam off of the mirror with a hand towel... and then she got an idea. She let her bath towel fall to the floor, and laid the smaller towel on top of the bump so that it covered the scar.

Then finally, hesitantly, she raised her eyes to look in the mirror.

The first thing she noticed was the bruise. It was quite a bit worse than she'd assumed – that was okay, though. She had confidence in her makeup skills. The years and years of dealing with the flailing fists of various criminals had taught her how to cover a bruise pretty damn well.

Her gaze slowly swept downwards, landing briefly on the brand – her fingers traced its familiar pattern once again – and then she glanced at the little tattoo over her heart, and then her fingertips found their way to the little divot under her right ribs – her newest bullet hole, which was just about two and a half years old now. She hadn't seen this one much, since she never really looked at herself without clothes on, but looking at it now, a little smile grew on her face.

It looked pretty much just like the one on her leg, which was her favorite scar by far.

Why was she so fond of her bullet scars, she wondered? What made them so different from the mark on her stomach?

She used to think she hated the scar because it made her look weak, but Hotch had made a good point last night – if she was weak, the injuries would've killed her.

No, she definitely hated this particular scar because it came from him.

She had other scars related to him, sure – the brand for one, but that didn't bother her, and neither did the mark on her leg from the open fracture she'd had while undercover.

Those were Lauren's scars. This one was all Emily's.

Bean kicked again, and she watched the little movements through her skin, amazed that there was really a tiny person inside of her – she was actually going to have a baby.

Ian's baby, Lauren thought. She turned around to grab her Gimmel rings off of the towel cabinet behind her, but they weren't there. Emily had put them away, and the only necklace there now was the pretty one with the little pink stone that Hotch had given her.

Hotch's baby, Emily thought, smiling to herself. She remembered his words last night – he loved her, and he loved Bean, too. She wanted nothing more than for him to be the baby's father, but she knew she could never actually ask him to do so – it wouldn't be fair, and she refused to push him into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

But she didn't see any harm in thinking of Bean as Hotch's baby for now.

Careful not to move too quickly so that the towel would remain balanced on top of her bump, Emily turned back around to face the mirror. She held the necklace up, holding the clasp open, and was putting it around her neck when suddenly it slipped from her fingers.

She lunged forward to grab it, and caught it successfully, but her sudden movement sent the towel flying, leaving the scar in plain sight.

She almost turned around to make sure she wouldn't see it in the mirror, but some courage must've appeared out of nowhere because before she'd fully comprehended what she was going to do, she was staring directly at the scar in the mirror.

She inhaled sharply as her eyes attempted to dance away from the disfigurement that was now nearly parallel to the ground, Bean had grown so much. She forced herself to keep looking – she wasn't sure when she'd be able to work up the courage to do so again.

She wouldn't describe it as beautiful, not even close. It was a bit longer than she'd remembered. It looked like a crevice between her ribs, with white and pink striations running perpendicular to it on both sides. It was sunken in, sort of like her bullet wounds, but a lot deeper even though it was being stretched by Bean.

He did that to you, she thought, eyes still glued to the mark despite how badly she wanted to look away.

You took Declan from him, though. You deserved it.

Realistically she knew she hadn't deserved it, but something deep within her could not bring itself to be mad at Doyle for impaling her.

Bean moved again, and the skin around the scar stretched. Emily winced. It was beginning to be uncomfortable when the baby moved in that manner – the internal scar tissue sort of pulled. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure she couldn't forget the dark blemish that she worked so hard to hide.

Before she knew what she was doing, Emily's fingers were over the scar, touching it lightly, hesitantly – there was no feeling left there, but the texture of the old wound was strange. It was hard, calloused in some places and smoother in others, and there were many tiny ridges surrounding the sunken-in part and leading down into it.

Her finger slipped closer to the middle, and the skin there was surprisingly sensitive – she gasped, and pulled her hand away.

She was about to do it again when she heard Hotch's voice from outside the door.

"Em, sweetheart? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered a second later, coming out of the sort of daze that she'd been in. "Um, I'll be out in a sec!"

...

They left soon after that, and Jack had been thrilled to find out that she was staying for the weekend. Hotch was impressed and also relieved that Emily's bruise wasn't very visible after she'd finished with it, and once she put on her sunglasses, the swelling wasn't even noticeable. They went back to Hotch's place for awhile and Jack got ready for his game, and then they piled into Hotch's car and set off for the soccer field.

Emily got a little nervous when she saw all of the parents that were already there on the bleachers, but she tried not to let it show.

"I'll introduce you," Hotch offered. "But then I have to go help the kids get warmed up."

"Okay," Emily agreed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sure they'll be nice to you," Hotch reassured her.

"I know."

He introduced them all – Sherrie, Tammi, Lisa, Melissa, Joanne, Sarah, Diane, Valerie, Angie, Carol and Steve, the names went on and on. Emily tried to remember them all but knew she'd never be able to.

"This is my girlfriend, Emily Prentiss," Hotch told them, and Emily realized she'd never heard him actually say that outloud before. All of the soccer moms suddenly looked at her with renewed interest.

"Nice to meet you," they all chorused.

"You, too," Emily said politely.

"Okay," Hotch said softly to her, reaching for her hand. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she said, and he gave her hand a little squeeze.

"You're warm enough?"

"I'm good," she told him. It was a warm, sunny day, and though there was a little breeze, she was nice and warm in Hotch's long-sleeve t-shirt with Jack's soccer team logo on the front.

The back said 'Hotchner,' which actually made Emily a little giddy, but she was trying not to think about it too much.

"You can sit here, Emily," one of the women – Diane, maybe? – said, patting the bleachers next to her.

"Thanks," Emily said, and wrapped her arms around Bean as she went to sit down. Her eyes watched Hotch on the field with Jack and the other kids – God, he was so good with them.

"When are you due?" the woman in front of her asked with a polite smile.

"Beginning of August," she said, tearing her eyes away from Jack.

"Is it your first?" another woman next to her asked.

"Um... yeah."

That might not have been the true answer, but it was definitely the easier one. The blonde woman next to her looked a little confused by her hesitation – she probably wouldn't have asked, but Emily decided to explain anyways.

"Um, I have an older son. He's... he was my stepson from a previous relationship, but his dad... passed away, and his mom wasn't in the picture, so..."

"I'm sorry," the woman said, looking sympathetic. "How long ago did your husband pass?"

"Um, about two and a half years," she lied. But whatever, what was the harm in blending Lauren and Emily a little bit?

"How long were you married?" Diane asked her.

Emily struggled to do the math. Well, you see, she wanted to say, We were never married. I was pretending to be a different person, actually. We were together for two years and then I got him arrested, and then he was in prison for four years, and then he 'died' six months after that... "Six years," she heard herself saying.

"How old is your son? Are him and Jack close?"

"Yeah, they are," Emily said truthfully. "He's eleven. Declan."

"That's sweet," another woman said. Emily was pretty sure that this one was Lisa. "Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?"

"A girl."

"Aww, how cute," one of them cooed. "Baby girl with two big brothers. Do you have any names picked out yet?"

"No, not yet," Emily said, a bit taken aback by the woman's statement – two big brothers?

"Hey, if you need any clothes or nursery stuff, I'd be happy to sell you some for super cheap," Tammi called from a little farther down the bleachers. "I've got four girls."

"Yeah, I might have to check that out," Emily said, giving Tammi a friendly smile.

"Do you... sorry, do you and Hotch live together?"

"No," Emily told them, nervously running her fingers over Bean.

"How long have you two been together?"

The women probably didn't mean much by their questions, but they were starting to make Emily nervous. She hadn't realized everyone would assume Bean was Hotch's – but really it shouldn't have surprised her. After all, why would they have any reason to suspect anything else?

"Um, we got together right after him and Beth broke up."

That didn't really sound good, but even that was cutting it close considering how long she'd been pregnant – she definitely didn't want all these people thinking Hotch had been cheating.

"How'd you meet?"

"Oh – work," she said, actually surprised that they didn't already know that. At least that was one question she could answer truthfully.

The woman next to her frowned. "What do you do?"

"I'm on his team," Emily explained. "With the FBI."

Now they all looked impressed.

"Really? Wow," Diane said. "Isn't that hard with the baby?"

"Yeah, it's been... challenging," Emily said. That was putting it mildly. "We're making it work, though."

"So you travel all the time and stuff?"

"Yeah, we're usually out of state at least once a week," she said, glad to answer questions about something that was more within her comfort zone.

"Do you know anything about what happened to Jack's mom?" asked the most gossipy woman.

Some of the others gave her a dirty look, but Emily could tell they were all curious, too.

"Not really," she lied swiftly.

There were things she was willing to talk about, but that wasn't one of them. It wasn't her place.

In the end, Emily didn't really end up seeing much of the game. The moms were way too interested in her personal life – it was like she was their shiny new toy. Emily got to know each of them a little bit better, too. It turned out that all of their boys had been playing soccer together for about five years, so they were a fairly close-knit group. She didn't particularly like the attention, but it was kind of nice to talk to people her own age who weren't surrounded by dead bodies all the time. They had a different perspective.

The team ended up winning, and Emily was pleased when after the game Jack came running up to her and gave her a hug.

She was even happier when Hotch did the same, and laid his hand on Bean, and pressed a kiss against her lips. She smiled and took his hand, and they waved to the other families, and they got into his car to head back home.

Her first real soccer mom experience was a success.

...

"I'm hungry," Emily announced around 10 PM that Sunday night. She had leggings and one of Hotch's sweatshirts on, and her hair was twisted up into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her legs were lazily draped over Hotch's lap.

He looked up from the book he was reading – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. "You, or Bean?"

Emily raised her eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"Is it actual hunger, or a craving? If it's a craving, it's Bean."

"Ahh, I see. Bean is hungry," she clarified.

"And what is Bean hungry for?"

"Mint ice cream. And pepper jack cheese."

Hotch's eyes crinkled. "That's very specific."

Emily shrugged. "She wants what she wants."

"Alright," Hotch said, pushing her legs off of his lap. "We don't have either of those things, so I will have to run out and get some."

"No, Aaron – you don't have to –"

"–It's fine," Hotch smiled at her. "I don't mind, sweetheart. You'll be okay here with Jack for a little while, right?"

"Yeah, of course. He's asleep. I don't think there will be any problems."

"Okay. I should be back in maybe a half hour or so, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

...

About ten minutes after he left, Emily heard a car door outside.

"That's weird," she mumbled to herself, getting up to peek out the curtain. There was a dark van a little ways down the road, but she couldn't remember if it had been there earlier, nor did she see anyone near it.

Bean kicked, and Emily patted her stomach comfortingly. "It's okay, love. It's probably nothing. Mom's just paranoid."

Then there was another, closer sound – like three or four footsteps on the creaky back porch. Emily froze, hair standing on end.

"Daddy?" Jack's voice came from down the hallway.

Emily didn't answer; she didn't want to make more noise than necessary. She tiptoed down the hallway to Jack's bedroom and slipped inside.

"Emily?" Jack questioned tiredly, confused.

"Yeah, baby?" she asked, shutting the door gently and padding over to the window. She looked out the crack on the side of the blinds, but didn't see anyone on the porch. So that either meant that there was never anyone there... or, her paranoid mind thought, maybe someone was trying to get into the house.

And if it was Ian... Well, she didn't really have time for his theatrics right now.

"Where's Dad?" Jack asked her warily.

"He ran to the store. Don't worry; he'll be back soon – there's no one –"

"– I don't feel good," Jack moaned.

Emily turned suddenly to look at the little boy. He wasn't afraid; he hadn't heard the footsteps or the car door. But he did look kind of pale, and very tired.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked him, sinking onto the edge of his bed, her attention now split between Hotch's son and the window.

"My stomach hurts," he told her with a grimace.

"Like how?" Emily asked.

"I think I'm gonna throw up," he said, suddenly looking even paler. Emily instinctively wanted to scoop him up and run to the bathroom, but she couldn't with Bean.

"Okay," she said gently, urgently, the potential person outside now quickly fading from her mind. "Come on, then. Let's go to the bathroom –"

Jack hurried out of bed and just barely made it to the toilet before throwing up his dinner.

Emily rubbed his back gently, and when he was done, she reached over his head to flush the toilet. Then he vomited again.

"I'm sorry," Jack whimpered, tears in his eyes.

"It's okay, baby – it isn't your fault," she told him as he stood up, shaking a little bit. "Are you cold?" she asked.

"No," he told her weakly. "Hot."

She helped him pull his pajama shirt off – he was sweating, and he'd thrown up a little on the sleeve. He brushed his teeth.

"You should try to drink something," Emily told him. "Do you want some water?"

"Can I have apple juice?"

"Maybe a little bit. We'll see how your stomach does, okay? Do you feel achy or weak or anything?"

"Kinda," he said, still looking like he was about to cry.

Emily pressed her lips to his forehead to check his temperature – he was burning up. "Okay. Can you walk into the kitchen? You're not dizzy, are you?"

"Just a little."

"Come on and we'll take your temperature, okay? Do you know where the thermometer is?"

He led her to the kitchen and showed her where it was– with all the medicines in the cabinet above the coffee machine – and she sat him on the counter and popped the thermometer in his mouth. Then she got him a glass of ice water.

The thermometer beeped and he handed it to Emily. 102.1 degrees.

"Yeah, buddy, you've got a fever," Emily told him. She looked through the cabinet and found some children's Tylenol. "Take that, okay? And drink some water."

Jack did, and then he pressed the cold washcloth Emily gave him against his forehead.

"How's the stomach?" she asked.

"A little better," he said, putting the cloth down next to him. "Can you get me a blanket?"

"Yeah, of course," she said, and she went and got it for him. He was shivering by the time he got back.

"Chills now?" she asked, tucking the blanket around him.

"Yeah," Jack said miserably. Emily looked at the clock. How had it only been fifteen minutes since Hotch left?

"Come on," she told him, turning around so he could clamber onto her back. Probably not the best idea with Bean, but Jack was still pretty little – sort of – and he looked like hell, and she wasn't about to make him walk all the way back to his room when he could barely keep his eyes opened. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and his legs around her hips, and she carefully lifted him and started down the hallway.

"Can I sleep with you and Daddy?" Jack asked tiredly.

"Yeah," Emily agreed without hesitation, and she let him down gently on Hotch's bed, and crawled under the covers with him. He cuddled close to her, using her for warmth, and she tugged him tight against her chest so her chin rested on top of his head.

"Daddy will be home soon, Jack," Emily told him softly.

"Okay," he mumbled.

A minute or two passed. She was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep.

"Emily?" Jack murmured into her chest, surprising her.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you," he told her for the first time.

Who would've thought that hearing those three little words from an eight-year-old would make her heart somersault just like hearing it from his dad had?

"I love you, too, Jack," she whispered, giving him a little squeeze. "I hope you get better soon."

The boy's breathing evened out against her neck, and Emily knew he'd fallen asleep now. She smiled into his hair – a full grin, too, and she almost couldn't contain the giggles that were threatening to bubble up from the butterflies in her stomach.

Things were going so well with this relationship that she almost didn't know what to do with herself. Aaron loved her, and Jack loved her, and Aaron loved Bean, too – the whole thing put her into a state of nervous excitement somewhere between euphoria and giddiness. It was almost too good to be true. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, but she felt like she could fly if someone asked her to. All she had to do was get Declan in, and they'd be like... well, they'd be like a real family.

She heard keys in the lock a few minutes later, and then the quiet beeping of the alarm system. Hotch moved around in the foyer, probably kicking his shoes off, and she heard the familiar rustle of a plastic shopping bag.

"Em?" his voice called quietly throughout the house when he didn't find her on the couch where he'd left her.

"In the bedroom," she replied lowly so as not to wake Jack, the smile still in her voice.

Hotch came and found her, looking a little surprised to see his son holed up in her arms.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Did he have a bad dream?" Hotch asked, his brow furrowing as he came into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"No," Emily said softly. "He threw up. Twice, actually."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Of course. The one time I leave, he throws up for the first time in like four years. Do you think he has food poisoning or something?"

"I don't know," Emily told him. "He's running a fever, too – 101.2. He was hot and then he got the chills. I hope you don't mind that he's sleeping in here –"

"– no, of course not," Hotch brushed it off. "Did you give him anything?"

"Just some Tylenol. Hopefully that'll help the fever go down."

"Yeah," he agreed, looking carefully at his son. He wanted to feel his forehead, but it was still pressed against Emily's neck. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"You don't have to thank me," Emily told him.

"– yeah, but letting him sleep in here with you was sweet. That's a step beyond what most people would've done. And I really appreciate it."

"Well, you're welcome," Emily said, brushing her fingers through Jack's short hair. He still felt hot pressed against her, but that was okay. She was always cold, anyways.

"Do you still want mint ice cream and spicy cheese, or did the vomiting child make you lose your appetite?" Hotch asked.

"I don't want to move. It might wake him up."

"Okay," Hotch agreed softly. "I'm just going to get ready for bed and then I'll join you guys, okay?"

"Okay," Emily said, and she gave him a tiny smile.

A few minutes later, he crawled into the bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her so he could hold her against his chest.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered into her hair, pretty much captivated by the sight of her in his bed with his son in her arms.

She arched an eyebrow. Her hair was everywhere and she didn't have any makeup on, and she was just wearing an old t-shirt. Also she knew there were dark circles under her eyes and of course the huge bruise on her cheekbone. "Really? Right now?" she asked doubtfully.

"Always," he said, placing a kiss against her neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

A few more minutes passed, and Hotch could feel Emily starting to fall asleep. "Hey, Em?"

"Hmm?" she moaned tiredly.

"I just... I know that you're worried because you think you don't know how to be a mom, but... I think you're already a really good mom."

Emily stiffened. "I'm not his mom," she said in a voice just over a whisper, sort of afraid of Hotch's reaction.

Her statement didn't upset him. "I know," he said, caressing her arm. "But you were tonight," he told her gently.

"Yeah... I guess so," she whispered, and a sleepy sort of smile crossed her face. "He said he loves me."

"He did?" Hotch asked, eyes crinkling. He loved that that made her as happy as it did.

"Mhmm," Emily said.

"I love you, too, you know," he said, kissing her temple.

"I know," she told him, pulling Jack a little closer to her.

"Are you warm?"

"Yeah. Night, Aaron."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."